Once upon a Summer Moon
by CltcBrd
Summary: Time Travel. In one moment Robert Baratheon lay on his bed dying and in another, he is thrust back into the past, back into his childhood. Haunted by visions of the future and living amongst ghosts, the burden of saving the realms of all men falls upon him. But is he up to the task? Can he move beyond his prejudices and become the hero he was once believed to be?
1. A Journey through Time

_**~A Journey Through Time~**_

In one moment, Robert Baratheon, First of his Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, lay dying. And in another, he found himself standing atop the battlements of Storm's End watching the _Windproud_ flounder in a storm.

Robert was transfixed for a moment and stood stock still, his hands on the battlements, gripping them tightly. Then, he regained his senses, slowly and looked around. Something odd was going on. The ship, which had held Robert's attention now drew his eye with its peculiarity. As Robert was looking at the ship, it slowly started to stop and then came to a complete halt right at the top of a wave. Even the sea stopped raging and Robert felt the humidity in the air as the sleet of the early winter stopped in its place in the air. Dread filled Robert's heart and he looked around the battlements in fear but found it empty.

Only, it wasn't. At the far end, on the other side of the drum tower from where Robert stood, and closer to the bay than his position, stood three figures. Three familiar figures, who stood still like statues. He recognized them immediately. It was Maester Cressen, with baby Renly in his arms, Stannis and … and himself. Robert watched himself stand and look at his parents die unable to do anything and saw a tear roll slowly down his own, younger self's cheek. It was the only thing moving in this hellscape where even time seemed to have stopped.

"What would you give, your Grace, if had the chance to go back?"

Robert jumped in fright and surprise. A voice spoke from behind him and as he turned he saw a man, an old, old man, in black robes and thin white hair, with red eyes and a magnificent sword resting on his hip.

"Who are you? Where am I?" Robert asked angrily.

Robert's fear, anger and frustration all boiled over into rage and he stomped over to the old man and swung his meaty fist at him. To his surprise, a no small amount of fear, the fist simply went through the man, as if he wasn't even there. It felt to Robert as if he was swinging his fist through mist. Robert snatched his hand back and took a few steps backwards, looking at the old man warily.

"Are you… the Stranger? Is that it? Am I dead then?" Robert asked, resignation filling his tone. "Is this Hell? Do I suffer for my sins, then, without any rest, forced to watch my parents die for the rest of eternity?"

"Nothing so severe," the man replied.

Robert knew that the man, or rather his form, stood in front of him, but his voice came from just behind Robert's ear. It took all of Robert's will to not flinch. The man continued speaking, heedless of Robert's wishes.

"Now, let us come to the matter of why we are here, shall we?" the man said.

"We'll get to nothing before you tell me who you are and where we are" Robert demanded, his rising anger pushing through his reluctance to antagonize this man. The man let out a chuckle, which grated on Robert's ears and then he spoke.

"Look closely and perhaps you can recognize me. I am rather infamous, after all," the man said and smiled cryptically. Robert started to get riled up and balled his hands into fists.

"Enough of this nonsense, Gods damn you! Speak up and speak the truth, in the name of your king," Robert demanded, his patience, already frayed, having worn thin by this man's riddles.

"My King is dead, your grace. He's been dead for nigh on a century by your standards. But, I see that we are getting nowhere. So, I shall be open with you. I have been called many names throughout my life; bastard, white worm, witch, Master of Whispers, Hand of the King, brother of the Night's Watch, Lord Commander and lastly, of course, Bloodraven. I presume you've heard of me?" the man said, with a smirk on his face.

Robert's blood boiled. Here he was, having just died, from a boar no less, and this long-dead Targaryen dragonspawn bastard came to have a jape at him? Robert forgot himself, gave a huge cry of rage and stepped forward, taking another swing at Bloodraven and failing to do so once more. He slipped on the wet battlements and fell down. He tried to rise up, but his hands could not find any purchase on the walls and his bulk was too much for him to rise by himself. Defeated and humiliated, he slumped down against the wall and turned his face down.

"Well, what is it then? Have you come to gloat? To see how far the man who destroyed your dynasty has fallen? You've had your look, now begone with you and let me have my rest in peace," Robert grumbled.

"You are not dead, your grace," Bloodraven said suddenly, unheeding of Robert's words.

"Huh? What is that supposed to do for me? I know what death is like when it comes for a man. I suppose you'll say that this is some fever dream and that I'll wake up back in my bed, hale and hearty," Robert said and snorted. He looked around. It would do him some good if there was some wine or ale or something to that effect here. Perhaps, this Storm's End was still stocked with the Volantene Wine Lord Steffon had brought for the Mad King's coronation.

"Not quite. Tell me, what do you know of the Others," Bloodraven asked.

Bloodraven launched into an explanation about how the world was due for a Long Night and how he, as the Last Greenseer, had the responsibility to ensure that the realms of men lived to see through it. As he spoke, Robert slowly lost interest in the matter. What did it matter to him, whether the realms of men lived or died? He was dead anyway and all that he had hoped for had turned out to be naught. Instead of finding his sweet Lyanna, he was stuck with this bastard dragonspawn.

"What do I care? I'm dead and I have no more bearing on the world of the living," Robert replied.

"As I said earlier, your grace, you are not dead yet. And even if you were dead, I still have a means of sending you back. To change things for the better," Bloodraven said.

"Send me back? What back to my bitch of a wife and my cowardly son? I'd rather have the boar gore me once more than that. And you speak of changing things for the better. Send anyone else back to their life after their death and they'd do a better job than I'd do, I wager," Robert said and he gave a small snort at the ridiculousness of it all.

"You were not my first choice either, your grace. As things stand, you are my last hope," Bloodraven said, a sombre tone colouring his voice.

"So, what you give me my life back, I go on being the King again and then I have to stop these Others who are all the way beyond the Wall," Robert asked in disbelief, feeling foolish for even considering the prospect.

"No. I do not yet fully trust you, your grace. You are my last hope, I admit, but not my only option. I shall send you back in time, as far back as I am capable of," Bloodraven said, fixing Robert with a serious stare. Robert felt that Bloodraven did not truly trust him to carry out this task.

"But what are the Others? How can I know that they really exist? How can I even be certain that this is no fever dream, brought about as I die?" Robert asked.

"Behold," Bloodraven said.

And the sea around Storm's End froze solid and the temperatures dropped as the early winter sleet turned into snowflakes in their positions suspended in the air. Robert could see his breath in the air around him and he started to shiver. Bloodraven walked away from Robert and moved towards the battlements overlooking the lands surrounding Storm's End. He gestured for Robert to follow and Robert, who had struggled to stand up, found himself rising propped by some power he had no control over.

Robert was floated gently over to where Bloodraven stood and then deposited on his feet beside him. He put his hands on the battlements to steady himself and glared at Bloodraven who seemed not to notice. Bloodraven had his attention fixed on a point far inland, around where a small hillock rose above the surroundings. Even as Robert watched, the lands around Storm's End were covered slowly with snow despite no snow actually falling down to the ground. And upon the hillock, Robert could make out the figures of what looked like men, some standing and others riding on some sort of beasts or creatures which seemed to have too many legs.

Bloodraven made another gesture with his hands following which Robert could now gaze upon the gathered men as if he was standing right in front of them. And he saw that they were not men at all. Oh, they had the form of men, to be sure. They walked on two legs, they had two arms, two eyes, two ears, one nose, they had skin, hair and all of that, but Robert would not be a man if these creatures were also men. They had skin as pale as milk, of the same colour as Ser Barristan's white cloak and their eyes were of the deepest, stormiest blue. So blue their eyes were, that for a moment, Robert felt as if he was gazing at his own eyes, or those of Renly or Stannis or his lord father and Robert recoiled backwards.

Even as Robert was looking upon them, he could also see a man kneeling in front of them, in the position of a man whose lands have been conquered, whose riches have been stolen and most importantly whose will to live has been sapped away. Defeat was writ upon the man's face and with a jolt, Robert recognized him, even with is tattered clothes and unkempt beard.

"Ned!" Robert exclaimed and made to move forward to help his friend, but he found himself back at Storm's End almost a league away. He staggered at the sudden disorientation of the difference between where his body stood and where his eyes saw. Bloodraven turned his gaze to Robert and spoke.

"There is nothing we can do to intervene. Gaze upon the horrors that they wreak on this land and perhaps you will understand the urgency of your quest," Bloodraven said.

With that, Robert found himself back near the top of the hillock where Ned stood up to face the Others with a sword in his same. The same sword that Bloodraven wore at his waist. And he watched in mute horror as Ned took a wide swing at the one closest to him but missed by more than a foot. The Other stepped into Ned's guard and pushed what looked like a sword made of glass and ice through Ned's chest. Ned twitched upon the sword once, twice then stilled and the creature pushed him off of it. Ned fell back on the snow-covered ground and Robert watched, helpless as he had been when his parents had died, as Ned's blood stained the ground red.

The Others were gathered around where Ned had dropped the sword and one of them reached down to pick it up, raising it and observing in the fading sunlight. Then, the creature threw the sword away, disregarding it and moved towards where Ned was. It stood over his body at stared at it, in apparent concentration. Then, Ned's body twitched.

Robert watched in mute horror as Ned rose up to stand once more. And when he opened his eyes, they were of the deepest blue. Ned shambled forward in a slow shuffle and walked towards the Others before passing them completely and walking further on in what the direction of what Robert presumed to be the North.

Suddenly, Robert was flying. He could feel the wind in his hair and the cold of the snowflakes melting upon his face and in his beard. He found himself following Ned and then crossing him and flying further beyond. He passed through King's Landing and saw Joffrey, with those same blue eyes and with his throat cut open cruelly. Robert wanted to stop, to take his son in his arms, but he was gone by then. He flew over the Eyrie and saw Jon's son, his arms bent awkwardly and broken, but the same eerie blue light in his eyes. Then, he passed on further North even faster, barely catching a glimpse of men shuffling about in Winterfell's yard, each having those same infernal, blue eyes.

Then, he crossed the Wall, flew threw it, even as the last remnants of it crumbled down around him. He chanced a look back and saw that for long stretches, there simply was no sign of there ever being the Wall at all. Then, he flew for a long while, straight North. How far Robert flew he knew not and then he stopped just as suddenly as he had taken flight.

Robert found himself on his feet once more. He was standing outside a giant, dead Weirwood tree which stood on top of a small outcrop of rock and was flanked by two more Weirwoods. He took a few steps forward. The ground was heavily snowed on, with snowfall reaching all the way up to Robert's knees and even higher in a few places. He walked around the small rocky outcrop and then tried to climb up it, which was not very easy for a man of his girth. When he reached halfway towards its top, he spied a hole in the rock, entwined between the roots of the massive weirwood, hidden in the shadows. Curiosity, and something else which he could not place, spurred him on and he entered the cave.

When he entered the cave, it was pitch black, but he could make out things which were dangling from the ceiling of the cave. They looked like fat, white worms and Robert figured that they were the roots of the weirwood above him. He delved deeper into the hole and despite never having been here before at all, he found that he could navigate the place easily as if he knew where and how to turn. The weirwood roots above him shone with a pale light, casting harsh shadows on the cave which turned and twisted as Robert strode forward, backward, up and down.

Eventually, Robert came to what looked like a large cavern. The roots above Robert's head had been slowly thickening and increasing in number as he had been coming to this place and as he entered, he could see that the roots converged at a point on the far wall. Robert moved closer and the light from the weirwood roots seemed to pulse as he moved closer. When he was within an arm's reach from the cluster, he could make out what looked like a skeleton wearing fine black robes nestled within the roots. Then, the skeleton's head rose up and looked him in the eyes.

Robert shuffled back in fright, but the eyes looking at him were red, not blue. And it wasn't eyes, but rather one single eye which looked out at him, for the other socket was empty and a root of the weirwood was growing through it. The skeleton opened its mouth to speak and Robert realized this was Bloodraven.

"Do you see what I have become, Robert?" Bloodraven asked in a papery thin voice which barely carried over to where Robert stood, not even an arm's length away.

"You called me as 'your grace' earlier," Robert said.

"But, you were a stranger to me then. Now, you know the true enemy. Will you take my side and fight them? Not for me Robert, for I am not long for this world. Fight them, for your own sake. Or for the sake of your friends or your family. I have fought this long out of a sense of duty. I am still alive and so I fight for the living. But when I die, who shall do so?" Bloodraven pleaded.

Robert's mind flashed back to Ned, bleeding out on the snowy hillock and to his Joffrey, his throat slit, with those damned blue eyes, so unlike the green that Robert knew his son to have. And as he gazed upon Bloodraven's emaciated form a sense of shame filled him. Here he was, the man the realm had spit upon as a sorcerer still working to save it and what had he done? The Demon of the Trident. Hah! What did that ever do for him? It brought him nothing but misery as he grew ever distant from his family and his friend.

Robert made up his mind. He'd go back to whenever Bloodraven sent him to. He'd kill that bastard Rhaegar, take his Lyanna as his wife and let whomever wants the Throne have it. He'd then go North and smash these Others just as he had smashed Rhaegar and come back a hero. At least he'd have done something good in his life then, become worthy of the name he had.

"I'll do it," he said.

Bloodraven nodded. A semblance of a smile came upon his face and he spoke.

"Remember one thing, Robert. If you want to see, all you have to do is open your eyes," Bloodraven said.

"What? Stop speaking in riddles," Robert said, but his voice was drowned out by the cawing of a raven. The sound was thunderous and Robert was momentarily deafened. Robert barely made out the form of a large raven as it swooped down and struck him with its beak right between his eyes. Then Robert was falling and falling and falling and falling until suddenly he wasn't.

Robert woke up with a gasp. He was lying in a bed which was quite unfamiliar to him. He looked around to figure out where he was. The room was very well furnished, but not one that was befitting a king. Perhaps he was at the castle of a vassal. The walls of the rooms were not of red stone, so he could count out the Red Keep. He knew of no rooms that were of this size and with these stylings within the Keep. The windows were closed but the drapes were drawn back and sunlight streamed through them.

Robert got out of the bed. Or rather, he tried to. As Robert reached the edge of the bed, he found out that his legs did not reach the floor. Panic shot through him and he jumped from the bed and ran over to where a looking glass was hanging on the wall. And it was then he looked upon his appearance.

Robert looked upon the face of a person who was most definitely himself. But there was a single problem. The man in the mirror was no man at all. It was a child. Robert was a child. He remembered vaguely how he looked like as a child and the similarities were uncanny. He could place himself at around ten or maybe twelve years old, but that was it.

Panic started to set in and Robert started to pace around the room. Then, he stopped and looked around in wonder. He could pace around! When he used to be larger around the middle, Robert found out that even pacing around brought him much fatigue very quickly. Robert let out a sharp laugh at his newfound mobility and started to pace 'round the room once more, his thoughts in disarray. As Robert walked over to the window, he could see that he was in a castle near the sea. And then, it hit him. He was in Storm's End, back when he was younger and not yet being fostered at the Eyrie.

Robert spied a chest near the window and ran over to it and threw it open. Inside were clothes which would fit a man, no, no, a child of his age. He selected them at random and threw them on quickly. He had found out where he was. Now came the hardest part. He had to find out when he was. Robert finished dressing and he was about to go outside the room when the door to the room opened and his father stepped in.

"Father!" Robert exclaimed in happiness. For a single moment, he forgot himself and ran forward, tackling the man in a hug.

Steffon Baratheon had never been a very severe man, but Robert knew he was not one prone to displays of affection. Robert was therefore very surprised when the man put his hand on Robert's head and ruffled his hair, with a smile on his face.

"What's this then, son? Did you have a bad dream?" Steffon asked.

"Something like that," Robert replied evasively. Steffon clapped his hands one spoke.

"I had wanted to wake you up myself. We have guests lad and very special ones at that. Your mother and your brother are entertaining him as we speak. I had thought you would have the need of a servant to draw a bath and help you put on your clothes," Steffon said.

"I'm no child. I can put on my own clothes. And I'd rather not have a bath today if it is all the same to you, father," Robert replied, wrinkling his nose.

"Ah, you're at that age when your clothes are simple enough that you can put them on by yourself. Mine, on the other hand, are not so simple. But I digress. You are presentable. Come with me," Steffon said.

Robert nodded and followed Steffon. Steffon led him throughout Storm's End and Robert followed in silence his mind still awhirl with his thoughts and plans and ideas. As they neared the Round Hall, Robert tried to voice a few of his questions.

"Who is this guest, father? Is he our vassal?" Robert asked.

"Oh no. Not out vassal. You shall find out shortly. Keep your patience," Steffon said.

And with that, they arrived at the Round Hall where the 'guest' was being entertained as he broke his fast with Robert's mother and his brother. The crier announced his father and then Robert and they strode in. Robert looked around the hall to see who had gathered. He immediately recognized the Lords Grandison and Fell as well as old Selwyn Tarth who looked quite young and hale. Then his gaze went to the centre of the high table the figure he saw sitting there, exchanging words with his brother, boiled his blood.

Rhaegar Targaryen sat at the high table, his seat to the immediate right of the lord's and to his right sat Stannis who seemed to be hanging on to Rhaegar's every word. Robert's anger rose with each step he took. As the lords gathered rose when Robert's father walked in, Rhaegar looked up and saw them and he too rose a smile on his face. That was what did it. Robert had to wipe off the smile, even if it was the last thing he did.

Robert let out a sharp cry and he ran, marvelling at his speed while he did so. He was focused on Rhaegar to the exclusivity of everyone else and that proved to be his undoing. Just he was about to reach Rhaegar and punch the life out of him, he caught a flash of white from the corner of his eye. Then a sharp pain at the back of his head and then, everything went black.

AN: A new story! Yay! This one has been jumping around my head for quite a while. I wanted to put it down, lest I lose it. Please let me know how it was. Did you like it? Did you hate it? Want to complain? Please do so. Any feedback is appreciated.

For, those who follow my other story, the Unworthy (nudge, nudge, wink, wink, please check it out), this is why I haven't updated in a while. I've been busy planning this one and sketching this one out.


	2. A Multitude of Changes

_**~A Multitude of Changes~**_

Robert woke slowly, in fits and gasps. There were times when he felt almost awake but then he lapsed back into sleep when a searing pain seemed to assault his head. When Robert finally woke he saw that he was back in his room and that it was late afternoon from the sun outside his window.

Robert shifted a little in his bed and looked around. The room looked to be empty until he looked at his desk. Stannis was seated upon the desk and put his feet on Robert's chair. He had in his hands, two toy knights. Robert recognized that one of them was the Laughing Storm but other was of a Targaryen colouring; perhaps it was a figure of the Dragonknight or even Daeron the Young Dragon. Robert vividly remembered playing with figures of the Laughing Storm and others but back then, he would have copped Stannis one over his head for playing with his toys.

Now, the look of the Targaryens in his toys made him queasy and uncomfortable. He'd have to throw the toy away. Robert did not want anything reminding of the damned Targaryens in his rooms. Robert tried to sit up and struggled to find purchase in the soft mattress. Stannis looked up at his movement and hurriedly tried to hide the toys behind him. Robert let out a small chuckle. It was good to know that Stannis still had the proper respect for him.

"What's that you're hiding there, Stannis?" Robert called out.

"It's... it's nothing. You're awake! I'll get Cressen!" Stannis said and ran out quickly before Robert could get another word in edgewise.

Robert sighed and got off the bed, jumping down the last few inches when his legs didn't reach the ground. He walked over to the looking glass and looked at his face. It was the same as it had been when he woke up after Bloodraven had pecked him between the eyes with his infernal raven. Robert moved his head to each side and the boy in the mirror did the same. Robert dragged a hand over his face and the boy in the mirror did likewise.

The door to his rooms opened and Cressen walked in, followed by Stannis and his mother. Cressen walked over to Robert, while his mother stood a little back, preferring to let Cressen do his work. Stannis stood behind their mother, perhaps afraid that Robert had seen him playing with his toys. Robert gave Stannis a sharp smile and Stannis tried to give one back, hesitantly. Cressen took Robert's head in his hands and looked at the back of it. He poked a little, which gave Robert a sharp pain at that point.

"Is there any lingering pain, lord Robert?" Cressen asked.

"Only where you poked me," Robert replied. He extricated himself from Cressen's grip and crossed his arms across his chest.

"And do you have trouble remembering anything?" Cressen asked.

"Well, now that you mention it, I do have some trouble remembering whose toys are on the table over there. Are they mine, or are they Stannis's?" Robert asked with a smirk on his face, looking at Stannis in the eye. Stannis shrunk back behind his mother's skirts.

"Robert!" Cassana Estermont said sharply.

"I only jape, mother," Robert said. He smiled. It was good to be able to talk to his mother once more.

For a long time, Lyanna reminded him of his own mother. Or at least, what he remembered of the both of them, at least. They spoke the same way, they walked the same way and some part of Robert refused to admit that they even looked a little similar. Cressen cleared his throat and brought Robert's attention back to the present.

"Very well, lord Robert. I have a few questions for you, to see if your capacity for thought has been affected in any way," Cressen said.

"Well, get on with it then," Robert said, imperiously. His mother giggled a little at his tone and Robert had to remind himself that he was not the King and he that was but eleven or twelve namedays old now. He'd have to act that part too. Cressen spoke with a smile on his face.

"What is one and one put together?" Cressen asked.

"Two. I was hit over the head, I'm not a simpleton. By the by, who was it that hit me?" Robert asked.

"It was Ser Harlan Grandison, a knight of the Kingsguard. He came here with Ser Gwayne Gaunt. They were charged by King Aerys to protect Prince Rhaegar as he journeyed to Summerhall," Stannis piped up from his position behind their mother, his earlier fear apparently forgotten.

"Gods, you make it sound as if the ponce is on a fucking quest," Robert grumbled.

The effect was immediate. Stannis clapped a hand over his mouth as if Robert had uttered the vilest of treasons. Cressen looked down on Robert, the same way old Jon Arryn had when it was found out that Robert had fathered a bastard on one of the serving girls in the Eyrie. And his mother; well she marched right up to him and hit him one up the head and then took an ear in her hand and twisted it sharply.

"Ah! Ah! Mother! Please, you're hurting me," Robert pleaded.

"I should hope so. Is that the way you speak of guests? And he is not just any guest either. He's the Crown Prince and your cousin on top of that. Finish your work here and go meet your father in his solar. I shall be having some words with him about your behaviour," Cassana said. She let go of his ear and marched out his rooms, intent on finding his father and telling him of Robert's words. A little ball of dread settled in Robert's stomach. Cressen cleared his throat once more and continued with his questioning.

"And what is five and six put together?" Cressen asked.

"Eleven," Robert said and rolled his eyes. He turned to Stannis and spoke. "Has this Ser Harlan been punished?"

"Well, both father and Prince Rhaegar agreed that he acted in haste. Prince Rhaegar even agreed that you rushed at him because you were excited to see your cousin. Then, father demanded that the knight to be whipped for striking you and Prince Rhaegar allowed that, because he is within our halls and we have the right to our own justice," Stannis said, all in one breath.

"I asked you tell me whether this knight has been punished, not to tell me a long-winded tale," Robert said dismissively. Stannis looked down in disappointment and Robert walked over to him even as Cressen asked another question.

"Who is the King of Westeros, the Lord of the Seven Kingdoms?" Cressen asked.

"It's Aerys," Robert said and then hastened to reply once he saw the look on Cressen's face, "King Aerys the Second of his name, of House Targaryen."

Robert stood behind Stannis and put his arm around Stannis's shoulder. He squeezed it all the power he had, which was, unfortunately, not very much and he spoke. Maester Cressen looked on them with a smile and Robert felt happy for making him proud at least.

"Don't be sad, Stannis. If I don't scare you, or make fun of you, who else will. We are brothers, you know. Things like these happen all the time. Don't feel bad for it. You should have bantered back with me. That's how things should be," Robert said.

"But, will you let Proudwing be, then? Can I keep her and use her for hawking?" Stannis asked.

"Eh? What in the world is Proudwing?" Robert asked, scratching his head.

"It's the goshawk I found, with its broken wing. You call it Weakwing, but it's not. I can make it fly, you see," Stannis replied, full of determination.

"Oh, what, that silly little bird? I don't even care for it anymore. Do whatever you wish with it. Come on, let us go to father's solar. Is that all Maester?" Robert asked. He didn't even remember what Stannis was talking about, but if Stannis care for some bird so much, he could let him have it.

"One final question: how high the Wall?" Cressen asked.

Suddenly, Robert was transported back North. He could see in his mind's eye clearly as he flew over it. He remembered his talk with Bloodraven and how Bloodraven had made him fly over the Seven Kingdoms on his journey beyond the Wall. So lost in his thought he was, that he missed the Maester call upon his name quite a few times. Stannis nudged Robert in the ribs and Robert was jolted back into the present.

"I don't know, Maester," Robert said, numbly. Cressen clucked his tongue.

"'Tis a pity. Sometimes, people who have had head injuries tend to gain a greater intelligence. There have been some studies in the Citadel on this matter. Why, there was this one child from near Highgarden who once -," Cressen started to go off on a tangent.

"Maester…" Stannis whined.

"Yes, yes. You may go, lord Robert. You are fine and there will be no lasting effects," Cressen said.

Stannis nodded and took Robert by the hand and started to drag him towards their father's solar. Robert allowed himself to be taken along by Stannis and he took in the sight of Storm's End. He had not seen it for a long time. When he was King, all his time was spent at the Red Keep and he never had much time to make any sort of lord's progress over the Seven Kingdoms. And even before that, he had split his time between the Eyrie and here, leaving his great uncle Harbert as castellan first and then later Ser Courtnay Penrose after his great uncle's death. Then, a doubt formed in his mind and he turned to speak with Stannis.

"Say, Stannis. How old are you now? You must be at least eight namedays old," Robert asked.

"I'm ten," Stannis said, indignantly and this allowed Robert to safely place his own age at twelve.

But then, this would mean that the bastard Rhaegar was fourteen or fifteen. He wondered if he could use that information in any way. As he was thinking, the duo came to their father's solar. Stannis eagerly pushed the door open without knocking first and Robert wanted to smack him for doing such a thing. He already knew that his father was angry with him. He did not want to give him another reason to increase that anger. As they walked in, Robert saw his father sitting at the desk, while his great uncle, Ser Harbert, stood beside it and handed his father a paper which he took to read. Both men looked up at their approach.

"Come, come Robert. Nuncle Harbert, Stannis, you may leave us. Uncle, post some guards outside the doors. I want no one to come in unannounced," Steffon said in a serious tone. Robert swallowed down a little fear which had formed a lump in his throat.

Harbert inclined his head in acquiescence and led Stannis out as he went. Robert heard the door close behind him which seemed to him like a signal of impending doom. Then, he remembered that he had already died once. He had nothing to fear. He took a seat in front of his father without asking for it first and crossed his legs as he sat down. Whatever his father asked, he'd blame it on a bad dream and then bluff his way from there.

"Tell me, what was going on in your mind as you ran towards the prince?" Steffon asked.

"'Twas a bad dream, father. I dreamt that you and mother had died in a shipwreck and that I was being fostered at the Eyrie and that I was too far away to help you. Then King Aerys had the Lord Paramount of the North executed and -"

_Slap!_

Steffon reached from across the desk and smacked Robert in the face. The force of the blow sent Robert tumbling from the chair and onto the ground even as it drew tears from his eyes. Robert put a hand to where Steffon had backhanded him and felt it swelling. He drew his hand away and there was even a little blood on it. One of the rings on his father's hand must have cut him, then.

"How dare you!" Steffon thundered. "How dare you sit there, in front of your lord father and lie to his face after all that you've done? Do you even realize that you've nearly assaulted the Crown Prince? That he is my cousin and our kinsman is the only reason he even agreed to the farce of an excuse we gave him. If this news were to reach the King in the capital, he would be well within his rights to demand your hand in recompense. And your behaviour makes me have half a mind to give it to him."

Robert opened his mouth to speak, but Steffon held up his hand and continued to speak, not giving Robert the chance to defend himself. Robert picked himself up from the ground and stood beside the chair, not daring to take a seat once more.

"I don't know where you got that dream of yours from, but I had wanted to send you to the Eyrie to foster with Lord Jon Arryn. I even sent him a letter to ask him if he could take you in, but that option is too far gone now. You are too unruly by half. I don't want you to get up to these same antics there. Maybe, I should send Stannis in your place," Steffon said, breathing heavily, having expended his anger.

"No! Father! Please, I know how to behave. This won't happen again. I shan't disappoint you," Robert pleaded. Dread wormed its way into Robert's heart. He could not allow this to happen. He had to get to the Eyrie and befriend Ned and then get betrothed to Lyanna. His plans were falling apart.

"You've already disappointed me," Steffon said and those words fell upon Robert with a force stronger than when he had caved Rhaegar's chest in. Robert felt a newfound wave of hatred rising at the ponce. It was his fault he was in this position in the first place. Robert opened his mouth to speak once more but he was beaten to it when the door opened and a guard poked his head in.

"Beggin' yer pardon, milord, but it's the Prince. He seeks a, uh, audience with your lordship," the guard said.

"Very well, send him in. Robert, make yourself presentable and apologize to the Prince immediately," Steffon said.

Robert glared at his father, but Steffon did not notice. He was looking over Robert's head and Robert heard the door swing open. He forced himself not to look behind him even as his father stood up with a smile on his face to welcome the ponce. Robert heard multiple sets of footsteps behind him and Rhaegar reached the desk allowing for Robert to see him as he stood by flanked by two of the Kingsguard.

Robert had always remembered Rhaegar from when he died under Robert's warhammer. Rhaegar had an expression of intense concentration on his face as he danced between Robert's blows and Robert would never forget the wild madness in Rhaegar eyes just seconds before the blow that would cave in Rhaegar's chest fell on top of him and the inevitability of his death settled. Robert also remembered the placidity of Rhaegar's face as he fell down in a shower of rubies, as if he was at peace. These scenes haunted Robert's dreams for years, for how could this villain find peace in death when Robert had found none in life.

Yet, this was not the Rhaegar who had fought Robert at the Trident. That Rhaegar had most of his head covered, this one had his hair free and grown up to his shoulders. That one had the scruffy beard of a man who was weeks on the march with an army, this one had the patchy beard of a teenaged boy. But most importantly, that Rhaegar had a crazed desperation in his eyes as he fought and this one had a kind look as he gazed upon Robert. Something in Robert's chest twitched in protest and he looked away, curling his hands into fists at his side.

"My lord, cousin Robert," Rhaegar greeted warmly, giving each of them a nod in turn.

"My Prince, Rhaegar, please sit down," Steffon said, smiling warmly. Robert was glad Rhaegar had not chosen to comment on the cut on his cheek and the bruise that was no doubt forming where he had been struck. Steffon cleared his throat loudly and looked pointedly at Robert

Robert pushed down his anger and got on one knee in front of the chair. He held out both of his hands and Rhaegar gave out his own hand in response. Robert clasped the proffered hand in his both of his own gingerly and placed a kiss on the ring on Rhaegar's hand. He then let the hand go and bowed his head down and spoke.

"My Prince, I beg for your forgiveness," Robert said and halted. He did not know what else to say. Jon Arryn had taught him how one should genuflect in front of the King and others of the royal family, but this was all that Robert remembered. He could feel his father's eyes drilling into him from across the table and he hoped that he had done no mistake. He was about to open his mouth and speak some more when Rhaegar stood up.

Rhaegar clasped his hands on both of Robert's shoulders and pulled him up. He then pulled Robert into a hug and then clasped their hands together and smiled at him.

"There is nothing to forgive, cousin. We are family and you were taken in by your emotion when you rushed at me. Such a thing is very understandable. You don't need to ask my forgiveness for it. No harm was done on your part, no foul play was suspected from my part," Rhaegar said amicably.

Robert looked at his father and saw that he was smiling. This sent a sharp burst of anger through Robert's heart. Here he was, all the way back in the past and Rhaegar had found one more way to take his love from him. First, he had taken Lyanna and now, he was taking his father's love. His father should be proud of him, not Rhaegar!

"Please sit down," Rhaegar said and Robert took a seat in the other chair in front of his father's desk.

"I had a most curious conversation with your castellan, Ser Harbert, just now," Rhaegar began.

"Oh. And what might that be?" Steffon asked, leaning forward on the table. Robert had a feeling he would not like the outcome of this conversation.

"Ser Harbert was telling me how you were looking to foster Robert with some high lords," Rhaegar said.

"Yes, he is of the age where he could be a page for a few more years and then become that lord's squire of the rest of the time he is being fostered. I had thought of fostering him here in the Stormlands initially, but then the thought of fostering Robert outside the Stormlands seemed to be a very good idea," Steffon said. Robert leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. Both Rhaegar and his father were talking as if Robert was not even there.

"I shall speak frankly with you, my lord. You must be aware of my reputation as being somewhat bookish and not really being martially inclined. I also no longer have the option of proving my mettle against any Blackfyres as the Targaryens of yesteryears did. My trip to Summerhall was enlightening in many aspects, but it has also shown me that I must prove to my future vassals my ability to lead in peace and in war," Rhaegar said.

"All of this is true. Your own lord father had written to me a few years ago to discuss the possibility of fostering you here with me, but he later changed his mind. It appeared that Tywin warned him that sending you here might be seen as the King showing too much favour to his childhood friends. Tywin is already the Hand and your lord father once offered me the post of Master of Laws. I rejected it for the same reason," Steffon said.

Robert jerked up in surprise. He had not known this. Could it have meant that he and Rhaegar would have grown up here in Storm's End, just as he and Ned had at the Eyrie? That they might have become friends? The thought was too strange to comprehend and Robert struggled to put it out of his mind.

"So, in order for me to learn the arts of the sword, spear and bow, my father is thinking to make me the squire of either Ser Gerold, the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard or Ser Barristan the Bold," Rhaegar said.

"Both are very fine men, and very honourable as well as skilled in the arts of warfare. You could not find better teachers," Steffon said.

"Yes, and I have convinced my father to allow me to study statecraft under Lord Tywin. I would not be his ward, of course, and I would already be someone else's squire, but it's almost the same arrangement," Rhaegar said. Robert saw a gleam of excitement form in his father's eyes and a sense of foreboding settled within him.

"Of course, this will be perfect. Robert can be fostered with Tywin in the Red Keep, just as Tywin and I had been when we were younger. And when Tywin's son is also a little older, he can join the both of you," Steffon said excitedly.

"And I'll be glad to have someone of around my own age when I begin my training in such pursuits," Rhaegar said, a smile on his own face. Steffon clapped his hands once in his excitement.

"I shall be sending a missive to Tywin immediately and of course, one to the King as well. Oh, I have not seen Tywin for a long time and I was very distressed when Joanna died in childbed. And for their son to be born so, it was such a tragedy. I have been a very bad friend for not being with him at the time of his grief. I can only hope he finds it in himself to forgive me," Steffon said, seemingly speaking to himself, forgetting that he had company.

"Well, my lord. I shall be leaving in a week, then. I hope it will be ample time for Robert to put his affairs in order?" Rhaegar said.

"Absolutely. He shall be with you as you depart, my prince," Steffon said. Rhaegar nodded and stood up taking his leave, having finished his business. Before he left, he turned to Robert and spoke.

"I do look forward to our days in King's Landing and at the Red Keep. You will surely like it there and we'll be the best of friends, I can already tell," Rhaegar said, with a warm smile.

Robert stared at Rhaegar dumbly as he left the room and then turned to face his father who looked very pleased with himself. A cold pit of dread started to pool in his gut. Things had gone wrong somewhere and Robert hadn't the slightest idea of how to fix them.

**AN: **So, this ends the second chapter and we encounter changes immediately. What do you guys think of this? Did you like it? Hate it? Want to complain? Let me know. I thrive off of feedback.


	3. On a Road of Discovery

**~On a Road of Discovery~**

When the party set out from Storm's End, Robert resolved to keep his distance from Rhaegar for as long as possible. He was under no illusions as to what the fostering might entail. He would have to work together with Rhaegar if and when Tywin demanded it. But until that happened, he would not even care to look towards the ponce. And so, Robert made sure to keep towards the middle of the party as they went on their journey.

Rhaegar had come with men-at-arms from the Red Keep, sent for his protection, but Robert's own lord father thought it prudent to add his own men to the party. So the whole party excluding the highborn itself was at least fifty strong. It felt like marching with a miniature army and Robert revelled in this fact, choosing to spend some time each day with the men.

And so it was that Robert found himself on the third day of their journey as the party neared Bronzegate. Robert spurred his horse forward as made his way to the front of the column. There he found his own retainer, a young Ser Cortnay Penrose, talking with the Kingsguard, even as Rhaegar idled by.

"What goes, Ser Cortnay, Ser Gwayne? We seemed to have stopped for some reason?" Robert asked, trying not to look at Rhaegar who was sitting on his own horse and listening to the conversation.

"My lord!" Cortnay exclaimed in surprise. "We are coming up on Bronzegate presently, but it still late afternoon. If we press hard, we might reach the Staedemon lands by nightfall and rest there, instead of stopping here."

"And I say that we should stop here. The men and the horses are exhausted from their march in this midsummer sun, my lord. We are in no hurry to reach the Capital. It is not as if we are being hounded by enemies," Ser Gwayne said in reply.

Robert looked to Ser Harlan, who was standing by Rhaegar and the man looked away. No input from there, then. A lump formed in Robert's throat and he swallowed. He could not make a decision without Rhaegar's words being taken into consideration, but at the same time, he could not bring himself to speak with him. Robert steeled himself and walked his horse over to Rhaegar, who seemed to be looking at passing clouds. He looked at Robert when he came close and smiled.

"My Prince," Robert said and felt anger and disgust roil within himself at the respect he had to feign. "Have you any preference in the matter?"

"None whatsoever. You may do as you please," Rhaegar said and turned back to look at the sky.

Robert felt supremely frustrated by the ponce's behaviour. He had a feeling that Rhaegar was doing this because he knew Robert was trying to ignore him. Robert just wanted to punch that smug face in, but he was distracted from his thoughts when he heard the sound of hooves coming up from behind him.

"Ho there, cousin," Robert heard a voice calling out and he rolled his eyes. "Why the stoppage?" Aemon Estermont came up to Robert and asked.

Aemon and Lomas had been sent by their father Eldon Estermont to be fostered at Storm's End, but Lomas was the heir to Greenstone. Aemon had taken the opportunity and he had begged to be allowed to accompany Robert to King's Landing. Robert's father, in a moment of rare generosity, had allowed that and here he was, yammering away at Robert's ear, day in, day out. Robert ignored him and turned to speak with Ser Cortnay.

"We'll stop at Bronzegate," Robert said, with a note of finality in his voice and he was pleased when Ser Cortnay and Ser Gwayne snapped to attention before mounting their own horse and starting on the journey once more.

Then, Jon Connington rode forward to see what the hold up was and Robert smirked as the seed of an idea took root in his head. Robert steered his horse to line up with Conningtin's and spoke.

"Tell me, Jon… you don't mind if I call you Jon, do you?" Robert asked with feigned politeness.

Jon Connington jerked in surprise for he had not been paying attention to where Robert had come from and turned to face him. Then, he tried to make a sort of bow even as he was seated on his horse and only succeeded in making himself look more silly.

"My lord! I did not notice you," Connington said.

"Clearly. But forget about that. What brings you with us on our journey? I know my cousin Aemon hungers for royal favour and I am going to be Lord Tywin's page and squire. Prince Rhaegar, of course, lives at the Capital, so he has to be on this journey. But I wondered what you were here for?" Robert asked.

"I am also to squire at King's Landing and my father thought it appropriate to send me with you, my lord," Connington said.

"And who are you going to squire for?" Robert asked.

"It's the Master of Ships, Lord Lucerys Velaryon. My father saved his life, back in the War of the Ninepenny Kings and he agreed to take me on as a squire, to allow for me to grow at the royal court," Connington said.

"And are you any good with the sword? Or perhaps you use the mace?" Robert asked.

"Well, I've had a little training," Connington replied evasively and Robert knew he had him.

"Good. I was hoping you would be able to give me some pointers, then. What say you to a little spar once we get to Bronzegate?" Robert asked a not too innocent smile on his face.

"Ah, I would be glad to, only, it might not be appropriate," Connington said hesitantly.

"Nonsense. Lords and bannermen spar all the time and we are neither. You needn't worry about that, Jon," Robert said and clapped Connington on the shoulder once. Connington smiled and Robert gave him a nod and spurred his horse on further falling in line with his cousin Aemon.

"Cousin," Robert greeted him with a nod.

"Robert! Good choice on deciding to stop at Bronzegate," Aemon said putting an arm around him. Aemon was at least eight namedays older than Robert and a knight on top of that. Perhaps he could help Robert become a fighter once more?

"Say, Aemon," Robert began, secretly hiding his distaste at the Targaryen name. "You are already a knight, aren't you?"

"Of course. Earned my spurs only a few moons back too. And now, I'm the second son which means I would inherit no lands unless my brother were to die. Which is as unlikely as the sun rising in the west," Aemon said and chuckled at his own jape. Robert joined in for he knew how important laughing at a man's jape was to win over his friendship.

"Will you try for a spot in the Kingsguard?" Robert asked after they had finished laughing. "Ser Harlan Grandison is quite old. I'd give him five years tops. You'd' take his place as the Stormlander." Aemon scratched his head and thought about it for a minute before replying.

"The idea did cross my mind, I have to admit, but the vows, of celibacy and whatnot, are too much, I'm afraid. You'll understand when you're older. You're what, twelve? Plenty of time to experience the pleasures of the flesh," Aemon said, adding the last part with a laugh. He tried to ruffle Robert's hair and Robert steered his pony away and moved to the very front of the column not deigning to respond to that dig.

Rhaegar was riding there along with Ser Cortnay, Ser Gwayne and Ser Harlan and Robert made sure all three of the knights were between him and Robert. A strange sense of listlessness had settled over Robert after his father had confirmed with Lord Tywin about his fostering. He wanted to be with Ned, in the Eyrie. By this time, in a few moons and many years ago, he had just arrived at the Eyrie.

Then, Old Jon and Ned and Lady Rowena had awaited him in the High Hall and Robert had first thought that Ned was Jon's son. When he learned that Ned had already been fostered there for longer than Robert, he thought that Jon would focus only on Ned and not on him and that had made him hate Ned at first. But they had become friends within a few moons and Robert cherished that for the rest of his life.

And now, Robert was afraid that the vision of Ned he had seen from the top of Storm's End would come true. He was afraid that Ned would bleed out the snow and rise again, with cold, blue eyes. And he was afraid that the same would happen to his parents and to Stannis and to Old Jon. Robert curled his hands into a fist around the reins of his horse. He vowed that he would not allow that to come to, even if was the last thing he ever did.

"Ho, there! Who passes by?" a loud voice called out, jolting Robert out of his thoughts.

Robert looked forward and he saw that two men on horseback were approaching him and as the neared the party Robert recognized the sigil of House Buckler upon the breast of one man. Unless Robert was mistaken, and he was sure that he wasn't, this was Ralph Buckler. A very unremarkable man, though he'd only be the heir of Bronzegate presently, not the lord. As the men reached closer they seemed to have recognized the men bearing Targaryen and Baratheon banners and got off his horse when he neared Rhaegar. He got onto one knee and bowed his bead as he spoke.

"Your Grace, might I welcome you to Bronzegate," Ralph Buckler said courteously.

"Lead on, Ser…," Rhaegar trailed off.

"Ser Ralph Bucker, heir to Bronzegate," Buckler said proudly. He turned and whispered something in the ear of his companion who nodded and mounted his horse, taking off back in the direction of the keep. Ralph Buckler turned back to the party and noticed Ser Cortnay and Robert sitting on their horses beside the Prince. He addressed Ser Cortnay first, paying no heed to Robert, which angered Robert to no end.

"And you, Ser?" Ralph Buckler asked.

"I am Ser Cortnay Penrose, Ser Ralph. And I am here escorting my liege's heir, Robert Baratheon, who is on his way to be fostered at King's Landing," Ser Cortnay said pointedly, taking offence on Robert's behalf, which sent him a measure of vindication through Robert.

The change on Ser Ralph's face was immediate. His eyes first darted to the Baratheon banners held up by the men-at-arms, then back at Robert, who had the stag embroidered on his doublet. Then, he swallowed and walked over to Robert, bowing as low as he possibly could. As he should, too, for the Bucklers were no high lords. Their lands were meagre, bounded on one side by the Kingswood and they had border disputes with almost all of their neighbours. His future liege was not a man Ralph Buckler could afford to antagonize.

"My lord! You must forgive me. I had not recognized you," Ralph Buckler said, almost grovelling. Robert, already in a foul mood, wanted to let him stay that way for a while longer, but he quickly tired of the man's attempts at apology and flattery.

"Rise, Ser Ralph. It is no fault of yours, that you failed to recognize me. You had no prior information about my arrival. My fostering was a very sudden decision," Robert said grandly.

Ser Ralph looked relieved but both Ser Cortnay and Rhaegar looked at Robert strangely. Ah, he must have spoken beyond his years once more. That was something he'd have to work on. He didn't really remember how children of his age spoke. Maybe he'd take his cues from Connington? Luckily, both Aemon and Connington did not think it out of place for him to speak in this way. Either they were stupid or they thought he always spoke like this.

"Of course, my lord. Come, follow me. I shall lead you onwards to Bronzegate," Ser Ralph said.

He got back onto his horse and spurred it onwards. The others fell into place behind him and Robert nudged his horse in line with Ser Cortnay's. Then, to his utter frustration, Rhaegar nudged his own horse to beside Robert. It was only a short distance to Bronzegate from their position and Robert prayed to the Gods that Rhaegar would not seek to initiate a conversation with him. He even threw in a prayer to whatever power allowed him to come back in time. Alas, it was all for nought.

"I thought it was good of you to let the man go, Robert," Rhaegar said.

Robert grunted in reply and held the reins tightly in his hands, looking downwards. He did not want to look at Rhaegar now and he did not think he would be able to control himself if he did. Rhaegar, oblivious to the battle in Robert's mind spoke on.

"I had thought that you would expend your anger upon the man. It might be presumptuous of me to say so, but your house words stand true most of the time. My father told me once that all Baratheons are prone to anger," Rhaegar said and a cold rage lit up in Robert's heart.

"All Baratheons, you say?" Robert replied in a quiet whisper, his anger no longer exploding but rather freezing. "I say we have more than enough cause for it. Where was your father when my father needed him? Piling honours upon the Old Lion and duties upon my father, sending him around like his personal errand boy. Old friends, we are apparently, but where was he when my parents drow-"

Robert caught himself at the last moment. He had spoken too much and he could see from the expression upon Rhaegar's face that he had spoken with too much bite. Rhaegar looked the same way Joffrey did whenever Robert shouted at him and suddenly Robert was filled with a sense of deep sadness, his anger deserting him in an instant, leaving him feeling empty. He had never truly told his son that he loved him and he had never truly reconciled with him after the nasty business with the direwolf at the Trident. Robert wanted to get away from Rhaegar.

"My apologies, my prince," Robert said stiffly and inclined his head, barely a bow and spurred his horse on to fall in line with Ser Ralph who stayed mercifully silent until they reached Bronzegate.

Just outside the walls of the Keep, for it had no moat, stood a welcoming party. The lord, whose name, Robert did not know or care to know, the lady and two other smaller children. Though, the children were of Robert's age. And then, further behind them stood another man and woman, just away from the servants and the men-at-arms, and with enough resemblance that Robert pegged the man as Lord Buckler's brother. When the party reached them, Lord Buckler knelt, jus as Rhaegar and Robert dismounted. Ser Ralph went over to his father, knelt beside him and whispered something in his ear. Lord buckler looked at Robert then.

"Your grace, Bronzegate is yours," Lord Buckler said.

"And I thank you for your hospitality, Lord…," Rhaegar trailed off.

"Gordon Buckler, ever your servant, your grace. And I welcome you into our halls as well, Lord Baratheon," Lord Buckler said, a simpering smile on his face.

Robert immediately put him out of his mind. He had seen many such people when he was King. They thought he would not notice but he knew the way they curtsied in front of his face and plotted behind his back. Robert hung back as the party entered Bronzgate, drawing up with Jon Connington.

"What say you to that spar now?" Robert asked. Smacking people about the yard never failed to improve Robert's mood and the fact that he'd do it to Connington would only make it better.

"Let us meet in the yard after we get settled in," Connington said with a little hesitation.

Robert nodded and wandered off, staying for a while near Ser Cortnay as he looked to the men's provisions and the storage of Robert's own personal luggage. The Bucklers had assigned to Robert a man to act as his own personal varlet who showed Robert to the rooms he would be staying in for the night. They were next to Rhaegar's. Robert sent the man away and changed into clothes more appropriate for a spar, glad that he did not need assistance. He did not bother for any armour, there would be some anyway near the sparring yard or at the armoury.

Robert dawdled in his rooms for half an hour going through the things his mother had insisted he take. He wasn't sure why he needed that many clothes. If he truly had any use for them, he could have them made in King's Landing. And his father had presented him with a set of armour. Plate armour. It was such a waste, now that Robert knew he'd grow so much taller and broader than he was now. But, some part of him was glad for these gifts. It showed him that his parents were still alive and that they cared about him, despite his father's comment about Robert disappointing him.

After spending about half-an-hour in his rooms, Robert made his way down to the yard, excitement slowly building up with each step he took. By the time Robert was at the yard, he had a grin on his face, the troubles of prior already forgotten. He walked over to the master-of-arms who bowed at his approach.

"I wish to have a spar. I assume you have some form of armour that would fit me?" Robert asked. Truth be told, Robert wished to forego armour entirely. He was sure he would be given wooden weapons, not even tourney steel. Robert was not so much of a pansy to be injured by wooden weapons, but he had once tried to ask for live steel at Storm's End and a wooden sword was thrust into his hand.

The knight, whatever his name was, nodded at Robert's request and ordered a groom passing nearby to bring him a padded brigandine and an open-faced helm. The boy nodded and ran off. Meanwhile, the master-at-arms turned to face Robert once more.

"I take it you will be wanting to fight with tourney blades then, my lord," the knight asked. Robert deiced to push his luck.

"Live steel, if you have it," Robert demanded and the knight faltered.

"I, uh, my lord… that is… ," the man stammered and Robert enjoyed it. By then, the groom had brought the armour and Robert put it on, the groom helping with the brigandine.

"Well? Don't tell me you don't have live steel at all in this keep? I had not realized that the Bucklers were so poor. What, do you lot fight with? Sticks and stones?" Robert asked.

"It's not that, my lord," the man said, torn between obeying Robert and not wanting to get hurt.

"Then get me live steel," Robert demanded.

"Absolutely not!" Robert heard Ser Cortnay shout and turned around with a groan on his lips.

Ser Cortnay was striding forward, across the yard, vexation writ on his face. And behind him, Connington walked, already in a brigandine and helm of his own. He looked eager enough, but there was still some hesitation in his stance. Robert wondered why Connington was so afraid to face Robert. Was it because Robert was his future liege? Surely he was not afraid of fighting a child of twelve namedays.

"I had heard of a spar between you and young Jon, lord Robert, but I did not think you would want to fight with live steel. Well, it matters not anyway. You are too early into your training to even think of using live steel," Ser Cortnay said, his hands upon his hips.

"But we can use tourney blades, though?" Connington asked and Ser Cortnay allowed that grudgingly.

Connington walked over to a weapons rack kept in a corner of the yard and started picking out swords, swinging them and testing their weight in his hands. Robert hung back and addressed both Ser Cortnay and the master-of-arms together, partly because he did not know the other man's name.

"I was wondering if there is a warhammer here. I wish to try it out," Robert asked.

"There is one, my lord. The Lord Gordon's grandfather used it in the Blackfyre Rebellions, but it might be too heavy for you to carry," the knight answered and looked critically at Robert's muscle or lack thereof.

Robert's face burned as the knight judged him and he clenched his hand into a fist, a hot retort on the tip of his tongue. Ser Cortnay seemed to have anticipated his anger and spoke quickly before Robert could get a word in edgewise.

"Surely there must be some tourney maces, with wooden heads and weighted handles?" Ser Cortnay asked.

"Oh yes. Would the young lord want a tourney mace? It would help you get used to the weight, my lord. Warhammers are very heavy and you'd need to develop a lot of muscles to be able to wield one," the knight said.

"Yes, yes get me a damned tourney mace, then," Robert replied impatiently. Being treated as if he was a child was really grating on Robert's nerves.

The knight nodded and walked over to a barrel in which some more weapons were kept. He came back with two maces, both of them held in the same hand. Robert felt irritated. How weak did this knight think Robert was if he could carry both of those maces in a single hand and yet thought Robert would struggle with the weight. As soon as the knight had reached him, Robert snatched the one with a rounded head from him and tried to give it a few swings.

He failed miserably. The mace was incredibly heavy, at least for Robert. Robert needed both his hands to swing it properly and he could not manoeuvre it once he started his swing. He swung the mace this side and that, but his arms started to ache quickly and he stopped swinging. He dragged it along the ground as he made his way into the ring which had been cleared for his use. Connington was already waiting for him.

"I shall be the referee. When I say stop, you must stop. Believe me, you do not want to cross me on this. Am I clear, young lords?" Ser Cortnay asked, stepping forward to the edge of the ring.

"Yes, Ser," Connington said crisply.

"Yes, yes, get on with it," Robert replied impatiently.

Ser Cortnay nodded and signalled the pair to start. Robert immediately took a few steps forward and swung the mace with all his strength in an overhead arc. Connington simply sidestepped it and before Robert could try to twist the mace, he swatted Robert on the arm. Then, the damned fool stepped away! He hit Robert once and stepped back, giving himself distance, looking at Robert anxiously.

Robert brought around his mace for another strike, this time horizontally and Connington simply jumped back. He then jumped forward and thrust his sword but retracted it as soon as it touched Robert. This caused Robert no end of frustration. What was Connington doing? Then, it hit him.

Connington was hitting Robert lightly so that he would not be injured! That damned bastard! He was babying Robert in the fight. No wonder he had been so hesitant. Anger took over Robert and he began to swing the mace wildly at Connington, forgetting about the pain lancing up his arms as he lugged the heavy mace around.

Now Connington was being forced on the defensive as he scrambled back to avoid Roberts wide blows. His back hit the back of the ring and he stepped to the side just as the mace descended, breaking the wooden fencing of the ring, smashing it into tinder. Robert let out a roar and turned upon Connington once more, ignoring the sharp pain in his arms. Unbidden, a memory rose to the front of his mind, of Maester Ellard in the Eyrie telling him that he'd pulled the muscle in his arms when he'd practised with the warhammer too much after he first got it.

Connington had recovered his wits by now and started sending in a few strikes of his own, parrying Robert's wide swings sometimes and deflecting them at other times. Robert's anger had gone from a boil to a simmer and he was aware of shouting in the background. Then, suddenly he was grabbed from behind and the mace wrenched from his hands. He turned back and saw Ser Cortnay looking at him with an expression of equal parts anger and disappointment.

"You have been told countless times, lord Robert, that you ought to control your anger and yet -" Ser Cortnay began.

Robert did not care to hear anymore. He could not stay here and be reminded of his inadequacy. It was one thing to lose his agency, it was another to lose his ability to fight. The humiliation was too much to bear and Robert had no recourse for it. He turned and ran away, face burning with shame, anger still burning through him. He heard shouts behind him but he did not dare turn back.

Robert ran into the keep and around the corridor. He knew not where he ran and he cared not for all he wanted was to get as far away as he could from the yard. Eventually, the corridor he was in opened up and he found himself in the godswood. Robert stopped and calmed himself. His face burned from shame at his behaviour. He was acting like a child! Him, a grown man and once King, was acting like his son Joffrey had when Robert forced him into the yard. Like father, like son, people said, after all. Though, in this case, it was more of like son, like father.

Robert walked slowly through the godswood, relishing in the silence. A small stream was bubbling away somewhere and that sound fully calmed him down. Robert was reminded of Ned and how he used to pray in the Eyrie's godswood despite there not being a Heart Tree in the Eyrie. Robert walked on further deeper into the godswood, heading towards its centre, dragging his pals across the barks of the trees as he passed, a deep ache having settled in his arms. He would have to go to the Maester, but that can wait. Then, he reached the Heart Tree.

The Heart Tree was not new to Robert, even if he had not seen this one before. Storm's End had a weirwood Heart Tree and Robert remembered playing near it, climbing its branches. The Eyrie did not have one, though and neither did the Red Keep. And when Robert had journeyed North, he had not entered Winterfell's godswood out of respect for his friend's religion. And so, it was after many years that Robert gazed upon a weirwood Heart Tree once more.

The weirwood had a white trunk, as all weirwoods did and it had red leaves, as all weirwoods did. Robert walked closer to the weirwood and saw a raven sitting on one of the branches. It cawed as he approached and Robert tried to shoo it away, but it would not budge. He turned his attention back to the tree and looked at the face carven on it. The face had a sombre cast to it as if it was passing judgement on a kinsman and was doing so with extreme reluctance. Then, an inexplicable curiosity took hold of Robert and he wanted to touch its face. He raised his hand and placed it on the face.

In one moment, Robert was standing with an arm on the weirwood and in another, he was no longer standing. He looked around, and could still see that he was in the godswood, but something felt different. Robert felt a strange serenity take hold of him. As Robert looked around, he could no longer see the weirwood in front of him. And then, he looked below. Robert was sitting on the weirwood and he could see a boy with his hand outstretched touching the weirwood. Robert looked closely at the boy feeling like he had seen him somewhere before. Then, he realized where he saw him. The boy was himself.

Robert screamed but the sound came out as a caw. Panic finally started to set in and Robert looked at himself. He did not have legs, he had claws and he did not have arms, he had wings. Robert could feel fear set in. Was this some foul magick or merely a dream? In his panic, Robert jumped from his perch on the tree.

Then, Robert opened his eyes with a gasp and a raven landed on the ground beside him, facedown, with a thump.

* * *

**AN: **So, how many of you expected this? I wanted to reveal this much, much later, but I thought it would be better to reveal this now. Give Robert a win, so to speak. Of course, Robert does not realize that this is a win. He doesn't even realize the extent of power that he's been given. And he's obviously no greenseer, unlike Bran.

Anyway, let me know how the chapter was. Did you like it? Hate it? Want to complain? Do let me know. I thrive off of feedback.


	4. Maddest of them All

**~Maddest of them All~**

It was on a hot day midsummer that Robert Baratheon finally arrived at King's Landing even though he had been smelling it for at least half an hour. In a way, the stench, horrible as it was, was also comforting. It was here that he had spent much of his life, more than what he had spent at the Eyrie. For a moment, Robert forgot that he was here with Rhaegar, to be fostered with Tywin Lannister and chose to imagine that he was returning from that godsdamned hunt in triumph, that Ned was waiting for him as the Hand, ready to chew Robert's ear off about Daenerys Targaryen.

Robert entered King's Landing through the Gate of the Gods and he was greeted by a deafening sound, pulling him out of his reminiscing. Startled, he looked around and saw that the smallfolk had gathered to welcome them into the city. For whatever reason, all of the smallfolk seemed to be out on the streets, celebrating something. Robert wracked his mind trying to think of why. There did not seem to be any festival around this time of the year and Robert was unable to think of any other reason for their celebration.

As the party made their way through the throng which had gathered around them, Robert spotted a pair of Kingsguard on horses riding towards them headed by, of all people, Tywin Lannister and his own red-cloaked retinue. He looked magnificent in scarlet robes embroidered in a golden thread and he rode his horse as if he were a King and the multitudes parted around him as if he really was one. Robert had a sudden recollection of when he had been five or six namedays old and his father had brought him and Stannis to the capital on some business of his.

On that day, King Aerys was not holding court, him having either gone off hawking or something trivial like that. So, it was the Hand of the King sat the Iron Throne that day, holding court in place of the King. It was Tywin Lannister, who was then still Ser Tywin and not Lord Tywin, for the Laughing Lion had died when Robert was in the Capital. And when Robert had seen Ser Tywin Lannister on the Iron Throne, so kingly and regal he had looked that Robert had thought it was King Aerys he was looking at and not his Hand. But now, whenever Robert saw him, all he could remember were his bitch of a daughter and two dead children, wrapped in bloody, red cloaks.

Tywin Lannister reached them and inclined his head towards Rhaegar. That was as much of a bow as he would ever give, Robert knew, even to a prince of the realm. Rhaegar inclined his head in return and Tywin turned to face Robert his green eyes trying to pierce him. Robert was neither particularly impressed nor intimidated. He had seen the Old Lion strut about so many times, it was such a drudge to watch it once more. Rhaegar nudged his horse forwards and drew up with Tywin Lannister.

"What seems to be the cause of these celebrations, my lord?" Rhaegar asked, leaning forward and shouting a little so that he could be heard over the din. Ser Barristan and whoever else the other knight was, drew closer to the prince, looking around, eyeing every person in suspicion.

"Let us go from here first, your grace. We can talk as we ride on," Tywin said. Rhaegar nodded and the decision was made.

The party spurred their horses onward and moved as one, the Kingsguard and the men-at-arms forming a line around them as they rode at a leisurely pace. Jon Connington drew up to ride beside Robert and he seemed to be struggling to say something. Robert let him be, curious to see what he had to say.

"My lord Robert, about the spar…," Connington started and trailed off, unsure of how to continue and looking embarrassed at having brought it up.

Robert was about to dismiss it out of hand when a capital idea sprung into his head. So cunning the idea was that he stopped for a moment to marvel at his ingenuity. It seemed like things were looking up for him, after all. Yes, Robert would befriend Jon Connington and he would take him away from Rhaegar. Let the ponce stay friendless and Robert would see how he liked it then. Robert turned to Connington with a smile on his face.

"Think nothing of it, Jon. It was I who lost control, after all. You fought exceedingly well," Robert said, trying to be as sincere as he could.

"Thank you, my lord," Connington said, a smile starting to form on his face.

"Call me Robert. I am glad to have another Stormlander with me. My cousin notwithstanding, of course. He's so much older than me and he such a bore sometimes," Robert said, trying to imitate what he thought children spoke like.

"Of course, Robert," Connington said. "Does this… does this mean that we are friends?" Connington asked somewhat hesitantly.

"We are friends, of course. One does not spar with another without becoming friends afterwards," Robert said, satisfied with himself.

Robert smiled. This was too easy. When had first gone to the Eyrie, it had taken him a few moons to be able to call Ned his friend and now he had Connington in his side within minutes. Oh sure, Robert knew Connington's father had most likely instructed him to befriend Robert but the important fact remained that Connington was now his friend and he could start to poison him against Rhaegar. Then, Aemon Estermont came up from behind Robert and put an arm around his shoulder.

"Badmouthing me, eh?" Aemon asked, smirking lazily.

"Me? Badmouth you? I only ever said the truth," Robert said and he and Connington had a laugh while Aemon chuckled along with them. Then, Aemon tried to ruffle his hair and Robert nudged his horse further, getting away from him even as Aemon laughed from behind. And Robert cursed his luck when he drew up level with Tywin Lannister and Rhaegar Targaryen. Robert was about to draw again backwards when Rhaegar spoke.

"So tell me, my lord, what is the cause of these festivities?" Rhaegar asked and Robert stayed with them to satiate his curiosity.

"The Queen has given birth to a son. A healthy babe by all accounts. Your father has named him Jaehaerys, after his own father, only yesterday and he has announced for the smallfolk to have free bread for seven days in celebration," Tywin said.

Robert's heart sank even as Rhaegar's face exploded into a bright smile. Rhaegar spurred his horse and sped up, leaving Tywin and Robert behind and one of the two knights of the Kingsguard who had arrived with Tywin hastened to follow. This left Robert alone with Tywin, something which he liked even less. Robert tried to slow down his horse, to let Tywin pass ahead of him, but to his frustration, Tywin slowed down his horse to match Robert. Before Robert could do anything else, Tywin spoke.

"I was quite surprised when your father wrote to me. I had thought that you would be fostered at the Eyrie," Tywin began. Robert looked up in surprise. He had not known that the Old Lion knew of his own fostering before it even began. Tywin noticed his surprise and continued on.

"Do you think your father would not have informed me of this? We spoke of this matter at length before the decision of your fostering was made," Tywin said.

"I did not think that my father would seek your counsel in this matter, my lord," Robert said, taking care to seem respectful. He had learned his lesson at Bronzegate. It would not do for him to lose control and speak as he wished. Especially now that the king on the Iron Throne was the Mad King.

"Our friendship goes back a long way, Robert. Perhaps you remember visiting King's Landing when you were younger? You were … five namedays old then," Tywin said.

"Six, my lord," Robert said, but Tywin continued paying Robert no heed.

"The King summoned your father then. He had wanted to discuss the fostering of our sons together, as we had been fostered at the Red Keep when we were younger," Tywin said.

"But why were we not fostered together, if the King wanted it to be so?" Robert asked, his curiosity piqued.

"My father's untimely death forced me to the Westerlands for quite a while and the King followed me there. Many miscarriages and stillbirths then poisoned the King's mind against sending his son elsewhere. Your own father was reticent about parting with you at such a young age. Even now, you are too old to be a page and too young to be a squire," Tywin said.

"Will you be sending me away?" Robert asked, allowing some hope to colour his voice. Tywin mistook the tone of his voice, however.

"Do not fear, boy. Your father has tasked me with your education, and I am not one to let down my friends," Tywin declared grandly.

Robert nodded his assent and Tywin turned away. Robert rolled his eyes in derision once he was sure Tywin was not looking at him. Leave it to the Old Lion to make everything he did sufficiently dramatic. By then, the party had reached the base of Aegon's High Hill upon which the Red Keep sat, sprawled like a toad. Robert fixed his eye upon the looming edifice, trying to place each of the towers of the Keep and the parts of the Holdfast within. Robert had counted almost all the towers when they finally drew up to the gatehouse.

As the gates were being drawn up, Robert chanced a look to the spikes at the top of the massive gates, wondering if anyone had been executed recently. Most of the spikes dotting the gates were empty but the few that had heads on them were topped not by tarred heads, but by white skulls. They looked like they had been picked clean many moons ago and bleached white by the summer sun. Robert wondered if this was an omen.

He shook his head. He was never one to believe such things. He knew that he and Stannis skirted at the edge of heresy when it came to matters of faith. Robert had never put much stock in heavenly affairs and eternal salvation all that rot. He always chose to skip the High Septons sermons while in King's Landing, leaving Renly to all take care of such things. But then again, death has a way of shifting one's perspective on things.

The gates were finally drawn up and the party passed through them, going past many guards in Targaryen livery who flanked their path from the gate into the first cobbled square by the stables. Here, Tywin motioned for the party to stop and dismounted and the others followed his lead. A groom rushed forward to take the reins of Robert's horse. Ser Cortnay was talking with the servants who had gathered to oversee the baggage being put away. Then, one serving girl came forward and curtsied before Robert.

"Beggin' your pardon, m'lord, but I'm to show your rooms, m'lord," she said, offering him a slight smile. She looked to be not much older than Robert was currently and something about her drew him in. He offered a smile of his own.

"Well, lead on then," Robert said.

The girl nodded and gestured to Robert walk ahead. Robert made to move forward into the Red Keep when he heard his name being called. He turned around to see Tywin looking at him, Ser Cortnay by his side. Robert walked over to them and Tywin spoke.

"I would have you meet me in my solar in the Tower of the Hand once you see to your rooms. Ser Ilyn shall guide you there," Tywin said, nodding towards a tall knight who stood to a side speaking to the red cloaks who had come with Tywin down into King's Landing.

The knight looked up at the mention of his name and bowed before walking over to where Robert and the others stood. Robert looked at the knight and wondered where he had seen him before. The knight was strikingly familiar, almost as if Robert had known one of his kinsmen. Robert bowed to Tywin once, as shallow as he could without seeming to cause offence and walked towards where the girl was waiting for him.

She led him into the Red Keep, but not into Maegor's Holdfast. It was only for members of the royal family, after all, Robert reminded himself. As the girl led Robert through the many corridors and up flights of stairs, Robert turned his attention on the knight. He wanted to solve the mystery of this knight's identity. Robert noticed that he too wore a red cloak, though it was embroidered with gold thread around its edge. He also had a small pin with the Lannister lion stuck to his breast.

"I presume you are the captain of Lord Tywin's guard, Ser?" Robert asked.

"Indeed, my lord. I am Ser Ilyn Payne," the knight replied.

Robert was astonished. _This_ was Ser Ilyn Payne? Truth be told, Robert had never his King's Justice without his great helm on. And he had never even heard him let out even the smallest sound. The knight that Robert remembered was portly and still, an unmoving sentinel. This one seemed to be full of energy and he was whistling a jaunty tune as they moved through the Red Keep. Robert knew that Mad Aerys had ordered for Ser Ilyn's tongue to be ripped out by hot pincers, but he did not care to know why. Now, that was all Robert wanted to know.

Then, they arrived at Robert's assigned chambers. The girl moved ahead of them to open the drapes on the windows and tried to set the cushions on the couches straight. Robert walked over to the window and looked outside. Thankfully, the rooms did not look over the city with its stench. Robert gazed out of the window and inhaled deeply. His rooms faced the Blackwater Bay and smell of the salty sea breeze filled his lungs as he breathed in and closed his eyes, savouring the moment.

Robert's hands gripped the windowsill and he felt something brush his fingers. He looked down and saw that a vine had grown all the up the Red Keep's wall up to his room's window. It was studded with vibrant purple flowers that grew down its length, nestled between bright green leaves. Robert plucked one flower and turned around. The serving girl had finished whatever she was doing looked at Robert as he turned to her. He hid the flower behind his back and walked towards her, taking as long of a stride as his short legs would allow. Ser Ilyn looked on curiously. Robert spoke to the girl.

"What is your name, my fair maiden?" Robert asked grandly. The girl blushed and looked down towards the floor, twisting her toe around the carpet on the floor.

"Marya, m'lord," she said in a small voice, her face turning redder.

Robert grinned and offered her the flower. She reached out with a slight tremor in her hand and Robert clasped her hand in his once she touched the flower.

"A flower for the fairest flower in the Keep," Robert said.

The girl took the flower from Robert and ran out of the room, giggling with her face turned down and red as the Lannister colours. Robert's grin widened. Behind him, Ser Ilyn let out a small chuckle and Robert turned to him and raised an eyebrow in question.

"'Tis nothing, my lord. But the girl, she will remember you for the rest of her days," Ser Ilyn said.

Robert was struck by the richness of his voice. Ser Ilyn had a voice that would carry far and Robert was sure that command over men came naturally for him. It wasn't for naught that he was appointed the captain of Tywin's guard, after all. Then, a few servants entered, carrying Robert's chest with them. They walked past him, deeper into the chambers to set down his chest near his bed. Ser Ilyn spoke once more.

"We ought to make our way to the Tower of the Hand, my lord," Ser Ilyn said.

Robert nodded and they set out. Ser Ilyn led the way, but he needn't have bothered for Robert remembered the way to the Tower of the Hand quite clearly. He had visited Ned while he lay recuperating from his duel with the Kingslayer. And wasn't that a surprise to Robert. He did not think Ned was the sort to fight duels on the street in broad daylight, but this showed how distant he had become from his closest friend. Unbidden, the image of Ned bleeding out on the snowy hill and his blue-eyed came to Robert's mind. He clenched his fist. Robert would not allow that to happen, even if it was the last thing he did.

Robert and Ser Ilyn arrived at the Tower of the Hand without any incident and Ser Ilyn then led him to the Hand's Solar. He knocked on the door once and Tywin's voice called out.

"Enter."

Robert entered alone. He looked around the room, trying to place it while he walked over to where Tywin sat behind a massive table. Robert remembered the room most of all as Old Jon's solar. By the time he had appointed Ned to be his Hand, Robert had, much to his now shame, grown too fat to scale the serpentine steps that snaked around the Red Keep and connected the Tower of the Hand to Megor's Holdfast and the White Sword Tower. But Robert still remembered Old Jon's solar.

It had an austere sort of feel to it, Jon's solar. Oh, he still had all the burnished gold fixtures that the solar had from its Targaryen days, but Old Jon had done away with the rest of the fineries. A simple banner hung behind his desk showing the Arryn falcon, but that was all it had in the daw of decoration. Then, Robert turned his attention to Tywin's solar. Wherever he saw he could see golden lions, prancing on red fields. The drapes, carpets, cushions on the seats, the table cloth and even the wine glasses were in the form of lions. It was a bit too heavy-handed for Robert's tastes.

"I presume you have been shown to your rooms," Tywin began as Robert reached him, not offering him a seat.

"Yes, my lord," Robert said. If Tywin thought that not offering him a seat would set Robert off-kilter, he would have to think again.

"As my page and future squire, you will have many duties to attend to," Tywin said, "While the rooms that you have been allocated were due to your station, you will be sleeping in my chambers in order to serve my needs as they arise."

Robert nodded. He had known this already, of course. He and Ned had slept together in a small chamber beside Jon's own chambers in the Eyrie. But that was out of propriety since Old Jon was married to lady Rowena Arryn by the time Robert had arrived at the Eyrie. The lord and lady's chambers in the Eyrie were connected and it was not proper for the squires to have access to the lady's chamber while she slept. There would not be any such issues here. Robert knew that the lady Lannister was dead, what with him having heard of the Imp being born from his father.

"You will learn the arts of war from the knights of the Kingsguard," Tywin continued oblivious to Robert's thoughts. "Prince Rhagar has only recently begun learning the sword. You shall join him in his lessons and perhaps find out where you excel."

Robert nodded his assent once more. He had no wish to talk over Tywin's speech. He already knew that he would learn to use the warhammer, though he would have to build up his strength once more, much to his consternation. So far, this fostering seemed to be identical to his own at the Eyrie and Robert wondered if he was too hasty in his judgement. Perhaps this would not be so bad after all.

_Bang!_

The door flew open. And the King walked in flanked by his Kingsguard. Robert stood rooted to the spot even as Tywin stood up and walked over to stand by Robert side, bowing deeply. When Robert did not bow, he pushed him sharply and Robert stumbled forward, falling and coming to his knees near Aerys's feet. Aerys let out a sharp laugh and pulled Robert up, grasping at his shoulders. Aerys then pulled Robert into a hug and held Robert's at an arm's length observing him.

Robert's only memory of the Mad King was that of his corpse lying at the feet of the Iron Throne. That corpse had matted hair, an unkempt, scraggly beard, long, dirty nails and its face was set into a rictus of fear. This was not that corpse. This Aerys was alive and well and Robert felt nausea at his close proximity to what would always be, in his mind, a corpse. And yet, this was not the corpse he remembered. This was King Aerys Targaryen, Second of His Name and he looked the part too.

The King Aerys who stood before Robert now, with his arms on Robert's shoulders had a fine, trimmed beard. He had his hair up to his shoulders and it looked recently cut and washed. His fingernails were trimmed likewise and perhaps most importantly Robert could see nothing of any madness in his eyes and this was what unnerved Robert most of all. Aerys spoke with a smile on his face.

"Did you see, Tywin? Did you see how the lad went to his knees as soon as he had seen me? The boy knows how to respect his betters," Aerys declared triumphantly.

"Indeed, your grace," Tywin said in an even tone. Aerys spoke on, not even sparing a look towards Tywin.

"And look at young Robar. He is the spitting image of Steffon at this age," Aerys said.

"My name is Robert," Robert interjected.

"Of course, of course. Young Robert. It is good to have you with us. Now, all we need is Tywin's son and it would be as if you were our younger selves. What say you Tywin? Shall we call for your son to join us?" Aerys asked, turning to Tywin for the first time since he entered the rooms, one of his arms still around Robert's shoulders.

"As you wish, your grace. I too had thought of bringing Jaime here to serve as my own squire and to learn the workings of the royal court," Tywin said. Aerys's smile turned very sharp. He had been expecting this answer, it seemed.

"Ah, but I was talking about your other son. I've heard him being Tywin's Bane and I want to see how Tywin's Bane looks like myself," Aerys said. Robert swallowed his shock at Aerys's words and turned to see how Tywin reacted. For his part, Tywin's face was entirely placid.

"My younger son is but a single nameday old, your grace. He is not old enough to be able to make the journey to King's Landing without risk," Tywin replied.

"Bah! Excuses," Aerys grumbled and turned his attention once more onto Robert. "Well, Robert, I had a chance to speak with my own son before I came here. He told me what you had to say about your father my neglect of our friendship."

"Ah, your grace, that is …," Robert scrambled for words. If Rhaegar had spoken about what Robert had uttered in haste, he was sure that he was done for. The Mad King was notorious about taking even the smallest of slights as high treason against him.

"Do not fret, my boy. You are right. As my kinsmen, you are entitled to certain positions in my court. Why, I had offered your father the position of my Master of Laws, though he declined it, citing other responsibilities and some rot," Aerys said.

"He only had your best interests in mind," Tywin interjected.

"Yes, yes. As you too no doubt have," Aerys countered and turned back to face Robert. "Well, my boy. You have my word now. Once you are of age and earn the spurs of your knighthood, you will have a position in my court that befits your status and then at my son's court after that," Aerys declared grandly.

Robert did not know how to respond. This was so far out of what he had been expecting from the Mad King that he was unable to even form a coherent thought. Aerys spoke once more addressing Tywin this time.

"Well Tywin, I'll leave the boy to you. Teach him what you can and bring him to court every day. He'll learn a lot by observing me as I sit in judgement," Aerys said.

"As you will, your grace," Tywin said.

Aerys scoffed at Tywin's tone and turned around, the cape he wore whipping Robert in the face as he walked out of the room. Tywin too walked from where he stood over to take his seat behind his desk. Robert, however, stood rooted to his spot wondering what past he had come back to when the Mad King was not even the maddest of them all.

**A/N: **Happy New Year! I'm sorry for the hiatus, but exams forced my hand. By the time I post this chapter, it should be January 1st for most of the world, so if any of you consider this as such, please take this as a New Year's present.

Now, I am unsure of a little thing and I was hoping to get the opinions of my readers on this. Rowena Arryn was supposed to die of a winter chill. Currently, in this story, we are in midsummer and according to my headcanon Rowena dies in the winter which follows. Just after this winter, we get the Year of the False Spring and the tourney at Harrenhal etc. So, I'm wondering if I should kill her off or not. Do let me know your thoughts.

Also, I thrive off feedback. Did you like this story? Hate it? Want to complain. Do let me know.


	5. The Beginning of Something New

_**~The Beginning of Something New~**_

Robert's bed in Tywin's chambers faced the eastern window. Every morning a servant would come at the break of dawn and open the drapes on these windows. Within an hour, the sun would be sending its piercing rays directly into Robert's eyes, which would force him awake. Then, he would set about his morning's ablutions following which he would follow a servant into Tywin's personal sleeping chambers to wake him up and set out the clothes for his day. Then, Robert's day would begin in earnest. This was how it had been for the past year he had spent as Tywin Lannister's squire

But today was different. When Robert walked into Tywin's bedroom to wake him up, he found the bed curiously empty. It looked as if it had not been slept in at all. Unnerved at this sudden change of events Robert set out in search of Tywin. His first stop was the doors leading into the chambers where two red-cloaks, Dake and Emrick stood guard. Robert went outside and both of them were leaning against the wall by the doors. They stood to attention upon catching sight of Robert coming out from within.

"M'lord!" Dake said and offered him a salute which Emrick mirrored. Robert raised his hand in greeting and spoke.

"Has Lord Tywin gone out during the night?" Robert asked.

Dake scratched at the stubble growing on his face, apparently in thought. He was about to open his mouth and say something when Emrick spoke over him.

"We don't rightly know, m'lord. Garin was the one who stays 'ere at night," Emrick said.

"Oi! I was 'bout to say that," Dake interjected.

Robert chuckled at their bickering and reached into the pockets of his doublet. He pulled out a single silver stag and flicked it towards Emrick who fumbled and dropped it which was then picked up by Dake.

"That's for your trouble. And the next time I ask for something, don't give me names of someone else," Robert said and turned to go on his way.

"Thank ye kindly, m'lord," Dake said from behind even as Robert walked further into the Tower of the Hand. He would go to Tywin's solar. That should yield more clues than trying to find wherever this Garn fellow had gone off. Robert reached the solar's door and rapped his knuckles sharply on it. He waited for a few minutes and pushed open the doors and walked inside on hearing no confirmation or denial. The solar was empty save for one single person.

Ser Alton Lannett was sprawled upon one of the couches in the room and he was snoring away loudly. If no one else knew where Tywin Lannister was, at least his steward would have an idea. Robert strode over to Ser Alton and jostled him roughly. The man started awake and rose to his feet in a rush.

"My lord, I was merely … Oh, it's you," Ser Alton said, panicked at first and then relieved his expression changing from fear to dismissal. Even after all the time Robert had spent in the presence of the man, he never failed to rankle Robert and this time was no different. Robert felt the stirring of irritation rise up in his chest and forced himself to be calm.

"Yes, it's me. What are you doing here asleep in Tywin's solar?" Robert asked.

"That's Lord Tywin to you," the steward replied hotly and Robert's hand curled into a fist out of his own volition.

Robert why Tywin inspired such loyalty. Fear, he could understand. As much of Robert's own reputation depended on the fear he inspired in his enemies as he did devotion in his own men. Even on the eve of his death, the Targaryen dogs in Essos feared Robert. 'The Usurper's knives are everywhere,' Robert had heard it once being said from an Essosi magister early into his reign and that sent a thrill of satisfaction which Robert could still feel to this day.

"Lord Tywin, then. Where is he anyway?" Robert asked after taking some time to cool his temper.

He still remembered the first time he had lost his temper in Tywin's presence.

It had been around two moon's turns after he had arrived at the capital. Robert and Rhaeagar had been forced together the whole day. First, Tywin had Robert attend the Small Council session early in the morning and he had struggled not to fall asleep on his feet. Then, he had to stand near the base of the Iron Throne while Tywin dispensed justice. All the while, Rhaegar shadowed Tywin, just as Robert had to, trying to learn something, apparently. His mere presence grated on Robert's nerves. But worst of all, Rhaegar tried to make small talk with him and that was almost the final straw.

But the grand finale came when Robert had gone to the yard to get some practice in. His lighter, wooden warhammer had just been finished on that day and Robert figured whacking some squires around would help his mood. Unfortunately for him, Ser Gerold Hightower had asked Robert and Rhaegar to spar with each other so that he might judge how far they had come in their education.

Robert tried to be soft in his blows to Rhaegar. He certainly did not wish to meet the King again and try to explain why he had broken Rhaegar's arm or worse. Or at least, that's what Robert thought. He had still over-estimated his strength. The frustrations of the day coupled with his inability to properly wield the warhammer had led to a humiliating failure. Worst of all was that the utter ponce, Rhaegar, had tried to be graceful in victory and tried to help Robert. Give him some tips so to speak. This, coupled with the pitying stares of Jon Connington and Ser Cortnay made Robert let out a scream of frustration and throw the warhammer at Rhaegar's face.

He was lucky that he missed his aim in his frustration, for Tywin had also been in observation that day.

When Robert returned to Tywin's solar after an hour in the godswood, he was given the worst whipping of his life. For more than a week, Robert could not twist or turn his torso without significant pain. Not even Old Jon had him whipped so hard for being found drunk in the Eyrie sept. Since then, Robert had been very careful with his anger whenever Tywin was around.

"I don't see why it's really any business of yours," Ser Alton said, apparently taking offence at Robert's lack of respect.

"I am his squire," Robert said simply.

"Well, if you really must know, his lordship received a missive from the Master of Whispers late at night yesterday. Then, he spent the entire night in conference with the Master of Coin, where I was on hand to assist him in any manner he desired," Alton said, adding on the last part proudly.

"What would Larys Hamell have to say that would make Ty- Lord Tywin stay up all night?" Robert wondered out loud.

"_Lord _Larys Hamell is the Master of Whispers. I do not make it a habit of questioning my betters, young lord, and neither should you," Alton said dismissively.

"Some no-name lord from nowhere in the Westerlands is hardly my better, even if he is the Master of Whispers," Robert pointed out.

"You are a squire still, young lord. Learning some humility will make a more virtuous and better lord," Alton said. Robert rolled his eyes. He did not think Tywin was the sort of man who practised humility and Robert had no intention of learning anything from Tywin, let alone something the man did not even know.

"Yes, yes. Whatever you say. Now, tell me, do you know where Lord Tywin is, or am I wasting my time here with you?" Robert asked, growing weary of this conversation with this overreaching lordling. He was beginning to see why the Tyrells' enemies referred to them as upjumped stewards. It was a very effective insult.

"As a matter of fact, I do know where his lordship is. He set out just before you arrived, presumably to meet the King," Alton said.

Having received this information, Robert turned on his heel and made his way out of the solar not even caring to send a second glance towards the steward. He got out of the Tower of the hand and started to climb up the serpentine steps that snaked across the length of the inner walls of the Red Keep. As he climbed up and down and up again on the steps in succession, making his way towards the inner Maegor's Holdfast, he passed the courtyard overlooked by the White Sword Tower.

It was here that Robert, Rhaegar, and Jon Connington came together to practise at their skills twice every day. Rhaegar never practised with the same knight of the Kingsguard twice, Robert noticed, making it a habit of going through all of them with the days of the week. Even old Ser Harlan Grandison sparred with Rhaegar when asked. Robert himself was mostly taught by Ser Gerold Hightower who drilled perfection into him every time they crossed swords, or in his case a wooden warhammer with a weighted head.

Today, the knights were still gathering, three of them in the yard, the rest having been assigned duties following some complicated schedule that Robert could never guess at. As Robert just walked past the courtyard, he spied Rhaegar making his way into it. Robert ducked down low, hoping Rhaegar did not see him. He did not want to exchange pleasantries with the prince. Robert had made it a point to avoid Rhaegar after their little training 'accident'. He did not know how Rhaegar felt about him, and he did not care.

Robert soon passed the courtyard and he reached the drawbridge which separated Maegor's Holdfast from the rest of the Red Keep. He crossed the dry moat which stretched down like a yawning chasm below and was about to enter the Holdfast proper when he was stopped. Ser Oswell Whent stood in his path, a spear in his hand which he held across the door blocking Robert's path.

"What is the meaning of this?" Robert demanded.

"I've been ordered," Ser Oswell said.

"Ordered what? I am here to see the Hand," Robert retorted.

"I am not to let anyone in," Ser Oswell said in reply.

"I am the Hand's squire. I must attend to him," Robert said, his irritation mounting.

Ser Oswell simply shrugged in response and this casual dismissal left Robert seething in fury. He would have let his temper go and shouted at the man when a voice from behind him stopped that thought in its tracks.

"Let him through Ser Oswell," Robert heard Rhaeagar speak from behind him and turned.

Sure enough, Rhaegar was on the drawbridge leading into Meagor's holdfast. He was walking towards Robert and Ser Oswell a determined expression on his face. Ser Oswell turned apologetic.

"I have been instructed by both your father and the lord Hand to not let anyone else inside, your grace. Not even members of the Small Council," Ser Oswell replied.

"Be as it may, Robert here is our cousin and kinsman. If being the Hand's squire will not allow him entry, then this will," Rhaegar replied with a tone of finality in his voice.

Ser Oswell shuffled around and looked to the ground unable to counter a prince of the blood and unable to go against the King. Rhaegar made up his mind for him, however, when he grabbed Robert by the hand and dragged him past Ser Oswell. Robert let himself be pulled along, in a stupor, as he wondered what the world had come to when Rhaegar Targaryen was helping him.

After they had come a distance inside the Holdfast, Rhaegar let go of Robert's hand and Robert took a step backwards. He'd best leave before he said anything untoward and Tywin punished him again for it. Before he could leave in search of his original objective, Tywin, however, Rhaegar spoke up.

"I do not know what I have done to earn your ire," Rhaegar started. Robert said nothing but looked at him in silence, if only because he did not know what to say.

"Perhaps it is true that you feel slighted on behalf of your family. That you see Lord Tywin's continuous power and influence and, if you forgive my bluntness, the lack of your father's own influence an insult. It is not that you have been forgotten, cousin," Rhaegar said.

Robert's head swam with confusion. Is this what Rhaegar thought of him? That he was some pompous ass who cared about his own 'influence' on the court. The slumbering beast of Robert's anger reared its head once more. Disregarding his private oath to not speak with Rhaegar he let loose.

"It is not that at all! Do you think I would care for the opinions of these worthless slime that dot the court and call themselves highborn? What need have I for their opinions?" Robert spat.

"No. I suspected as much," Rhaegar replied. "And yet, there is something else. Something which causes you anger towards me." Rhaegar said.

The corridor they were speaking in fell silent after Rhaegar's proclamation.

"I cannot speak about it," Robert ground out after the silence became monstrous.

And indeed, he could not. For how could he tell anyone that he had come back through the years, regressed into a child and now had the burden of defending the realms of men, charged by a dead Targaryen who was now half-man, half-tree. There was already a Mad King in King's Landing. He did not wish to be known as the Mad Lordling for his story.

"But you realize that I wish for us to be friends Robert? If this is something that I have done, then for this you have my most sincere apology," Rhaegar said. He even bowed down a little and smiled.

Rhaegar's smile was very earnest. Suddenly, Robert's memory was jerked back to the smile he saw on his daughter's face when he gifted her with something. Or the smile he remembered seeing on the face of Ned's son all the way back during that feast, at what seemed like years and years ago. And with a jolt, Robert realized that Rhaeagar was just a child and no matter how much he resembled Robert's nemesis, he wasn't that man. Not yet.

Robert swallowed down his sudden fear at what he was about to do and steeled himself. Then, he spoke.

"Don't worry about it, cousin. I forgive you," Robert said. He tried to smile, but it came out as a grimace.

As soon as he said that an even wider smile broke out on Rhaegar's face and Robert cursed himself. He knew he could not act as Rhaegar's friend for the life of him and yet here he was backing himself into a corner. And all because he was reminded of children when he was no more than a child, himself.

Rhaegar was about to say something when Robert spotted people at the far end of the corridor. It was Tywin and the Mad King and Robert had never felt more relieved to see them.

"Your grace! Lord Tywin! Greetings!" Robert shouted as enthusiastically as he could. The situation with Rhaegar was growing too awkward for his tastes.

Aerys looked towards them and smiled. This should have let Robert know something was wrong but he was far too immersed in relief that he did not care for that. Then, Aerys started walking towards them and Tywin followed behind.

"What's is this? I had ordered Ser Oswell not to let anyone in," Tywin began as soon as he reached them.

"Come now, Tywin. They are simply talking. It is no crime for them to be in here," Aerys replied, the smile still on his face.

Aerys looked so fatherly and kingly then, that if Robert had not known Aerys to be Mad King, if had not himself seen his body with his own eye, the results of his madness and the wounds it left on the realm, Robert would have believed Aerys to be a dutiful father and a kind lord.

Robert was once more drawn out of his musings when Aerys continued speaking.

"Indeed, we were just speaking of you, young Robar," Aerys said.

"Robert," Rhaegar interjected.

"Yes, young Robert," Aerys corrected absent-mindedly and looked straight ar Robert.

Robert tried to act his age.

"Me?" Robert said, trying to sound childishly surprised. Judging by the look on Tywin's face, he must have failed miserably. Aerys however, paid that no heed and spoke on, answering his question.

"Of course, my boy. You. Do you know what we were discussing here?" Aerys asked, as if to a small child.

Robert almost rolled his eyes at Aerys' tone but held himself back.

"What is it, your grace?" Robert asked, allowing childish enthusiasm to colour his voice.

"I received a missive from your father earlier today. He has charged me to ensure that you are married to a lady of suitable standing," Tywin replied instead.

Robert felt something sink in his stomach. He tried to interject.

"Ah… your grace, I am still young and-," Robert started.

"Do you presume to know more than your father as to when you ought to be married?" Tywin asked coldly.

"No, no. That is, to say… perhaps a marriage with the Nort-." Robert tried another avenue, his heart beating ever faster.

"Do you believe you have more knowledge than the King and I on this matter?" Tywin asked once more.

Robert looked towards Aerys who was still smiling, no doubt amused by the spectacle. He was about to say something else when Aerys spoke.

"Fret not, young Robert. You will have a beautiful Dornish bride. I hear that they are quite good in bed," Aerys said and laughed at the look on Robert's face.

"Run along, Robert, and wait for me in my solar. I shall join you momentarily. We shall discuss this later," Tywin said.

Robert nodded dumbly and walked away. He did not even notice Rhaegar walking with him and putting a hand on his shoulder. As he walked away, he caught a snippet of a conversation between Aerys and Tywin.

"He's not wrong, Tywin. What say you to a marriage between your son and Stark's daughter?" Robert heard Aerys ask.

Robert sped up and pushed Rhaegar's hand from his shoulders. He had to find some way to get a message to his father. He could not marry some Dornish woman and leave Lyanna. She was why he had even agreed to Bloodraven's stupid plan in the first place. And to imagine that she'd be married to the fucking Kingslayer! Robert had to do _something._

_**A/N: **_So, here it is, the fifth chapter of Once Upon a Summer Moon. It has been a while, but real life forced me to do some other stuff. Anyway, I'm hoping to take advantage of this self-isolation/quarantine to do some writing. While I cannot guarantee the regularity of updates, they will not be any more than a week apart, I think.

Anyway, please review the chapter. Did you like it? Hate it? Want to complain? Do let me know. I thrive off of feedback. Thanks for reading!


	6. A Step Back for a Look Ahead

~A Step Back for a Look Ahead~

Robert felt Rhaegar catch up to him just as he crossed the drawbridge separating Maegor's Holdfast from the rest of the Red Keep. Rhaegar put a hand on Robert's shoulder and Robert turned around to face him, irritation writ clear on his face.

"Have you come to laugh at me, then?" Robert asked caustically.

Rhaegar smiled kindly at him and Robert tried to hate him for it. He could not. Robert did not want the kindness and pity of RHaegar Targaryen of all people. Robert looked away from Rhaegar. His hate for Rhaegaar had mysteriously shrivelled and he wondered where it had gone off to.

"We are friends now, Robert. If you do not like this marriage proposal, you can tell me. I'll speak to father about it," Rhaegar said.

"He's not like to listen to you anyway. It won't matter what you tell him," Robert replied, wondering what it had come to if he was depending on Rhaegar Targaryen for help.

"You don't worry about that. Tell me, is it because the bride is Dornish?" Rhaegar asked.

Robert found himself in a conundrum. On one hand, he could tell Rhaegar that, yes, it was because the bride was Dornish. On the other hand, if the bride does get rejected on the basis of her Dornish origin, what would Robert do if another bride was selected from somewhere else? He'd have to deal with this directly. He'd have to send a message to his father.

"It isn't that the bride is Dornish… , your grace," Robert ended awkwardly.

Robert did not know how to address Rhaegar. Or rather, he did. But calling Rhaegar 'bastard', 'fucker', 'ponce' or any other variation would not be conducive to his efforts. So, despite his reticence, he forced himself to refer to Rhaegar with respect.

"You can call me Rhaegar. We are friends now," Rhaegar added with another smile and Robert wondered where the melancholic Silver Prince he had heard about many years ago had gone. Rhaegar certainly seemed prone to smiling.

"Of course…, Rhaegar. But listen, it isn't that the bride is Dornish. I feel like Tywin won't be able to choose the best bride for me and I need to let my father know that," Robert said, somewhat panicky now.

Robert needed to either convince Rhaegar or lose him. He could not afford to waste any more time. Tywin might send a letter to his father, telling about the bride he had chosen for Robert. Robert knew once that happened, his father wouldn't care for what Robert said anymore. His father had a stupidly high opinion of Tywin's 'friendship' Robert had seen, which was why he was in this predicament in the first place.

"Are you sure Robert? Didn't Lord Tywin say that he was charged by your father to choose a bride for you?" Rhaegar asked.

"That is not the issue I'm afraid about. It's more complicated than that. Tell me, will you help me or not?" Robert asked, fed up with this questioning. The damned ponce said that he wanted to help but all he did was ask Robert stupid questions and distract him.

"Yes, surely. You need not doubt me on that regard, cousin," Rhaegar replied.

"First, I need to go to the rookery. I can send a letter to Storm's End the quickest only from there," Robert said. He turned around and began running in the direction of the rookery.

Robert did not ask Rhaegar to join him on purpose. He hoped Rhaegar would take the hint and let him be. Robert turned to look behind him as he ran. Much to his consternation, Rhaegar was running just behind him. And as Robert was looking at him, Rhaegar's eyes turned wide and he opened his mouth to shout something. Then -

Blam!

Robert found himself on the floor as he hit something solid. He could hear the sound of something metallic ringing a high whine in his ears. Robert could feel his head spin a little at the force of the impact and looked down at the floor trying to bring his view back to normal as spots danced around in his vision. He felt someone place a hand on his shoulder even as he could perceive two people squatting down in front of him.

" - my lord? Are you alright?" Robert could finally make out the voice of Ser Cortnay Penrose as one of the people in front of him. He looked at the other and was unsurprised to see Jon Connington. Robert looked to see whose hand it was on his shoulder and, just as he had predicted but not wanted it to be, it was Rhaegar.

"My lord?" Ser Cortnay enquired once more.

"I'm fine. I'm fine," Robert replied and tried to stand up.

No sooner did Robert fully stand up and put weight on both of his legs than a sharp pain shot up Robert's left ankle. He let out a grunt of pain and tried to take his weight off that leg, but this, in turn, led to him losing his balance. He was about to fall over once more when he felt someone grip his arm tightly.

He looked to see who it was. Jon Connington looked at Robert with a smile from the other end of his arm. With Connington and Rhaegar's help, Robert limped over to a nearby bench and sat down on it.

Ser Cortnay then knelt in front of Robert and took Robert's foot in his hand, trying to see where he was hurt.

"Does it hurt if I put pressure here, my lord?" Ser Cortnay asked, pressing tightly on Robert's ankle.

Robert hissed out in pain. This was all the confirmation Ser Cortnay needed to pronounce his judgement.

"Well, the good news is that your ankle isn't broken," Ser Cortnay said.

"I suspected as much, Ser," Robert replied to gritted teeth as he tried to stand up.

Robert wobbled a little as he tried to balance on one foot and Rhaegar came up to put an arm over his shoulder and balance him. Jon Connington went to Robert's other side and helped balance him too.

"It does seem to be a sprain, however," Ser Cortnay said, scratching at his full beard.

Robert envied him at that moment. Oh, what he wouldn't give to have a full beard of his own, to be a grown man, to be a lord and a king instead of this cursed childhood living in this pit of vipers and forced to make peace with his most detested enemies. Robert stopped his thoughts before they ran away. Thinking about his problems never solved them for him. Only hitting them did. He had Ned to think for him. Or at least he used to.

Jon Connington spoke up from his position beside Robert.

"Should we take him to the maester, Ser?" he asked.

"Yes, of course. He'll certainly know more than I do about healing this anyway," Ser Courtnay said and waved them away.

So, it was that Robert set out to meet the Grand Maester, something which he would have done already if only he hadn't been so hasty in running ahead. As the trio slowly walked towards the Grand Maester's chambers, Robert tried to think of what he'd put in the letter to his father all the while ignoring the throbbing pain in his leg. Meanwhile, Rhaegar spoke up, addressing Jon Connington.

"You are… Jon Connington, aren't you?" Rhaegar asked.

"Yes, your grace," Connington replied and gulped and looked to Robert, unease writ large on his face.

"Yes, I remember that you had accompanied us from Storm's End and I see you almost daily in the practice yard. But you do not seem to speak much with anyone else there," Rhaegar observed.

"Well… that is to say…," Connington stammered and tripped over his words. He threw a pleading look at Robert.

Robert pretended to be in deep pain at that moment and ignored Connington.

"Do you feel like you have no friends, perhaps?" Rhaegar asked.

Robert resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Where did this newfangled notion of friendship come from? Why was Rhaegar trying to be so friendly all of a sudden? Rhaegar had spent so many years now alone in the capital, after all. Robert wondered if this was some plan of his. If Rhaegar had their need for something. But Rhaegar had seemed so sincere when he had asked for Robert to be his friend.

Robert shook his head, trying to dispel these thoughts. Why did he care if Rhaegar wanted friends or not? He needed to focus on how to word his letter properly to his father. Jon Connington replied, then.

"Oh, nothing like that, your grace. Lor-... Robert is my friend," Connington replied hastily. Robert had to hide a chuckle at Connington's tone.

"Robert and I are friends as well. And I'd be glad to call you my friend too," Rhaegar said eagerly.

"Of- of course, your grace," Connington stammered out.

"If we are to be friends, then you can call me Rhaegar," he announced.

"It would not be proper to do so, your grace," Connington replied instead.

Rhaegar said nothing in reply but just sighed out loud. Robert could no longer control himself. He chuckled out loud.

"What seems to be so funny, cousin?" Rhaegar asked, an edge of sharpness in his tone.

"People do not become friends with one another because they were asked to be. It is like asking someone to love you. Even if they do end up loving you, you can never be sure if it is true or if they did it only because you asked them to," Robert replied, sighing.

Robert's heart ached as he remembered Ned and all the time they had spent together in the Vale, as boys without any care or worry about damned rebellious Greyjoys or Targaryens from across the Narrow Sea. No matter how much he had tried after, Robert and Ned had never been the same again. Now, instead of Ned, Robert was stuck with the Silver Ponce and his lackeys wanting to be friends. He would have laughed if he wasn't so melancholic.

"Then how do people become friends?" Rhaegar asked.

"You spend time with them, of course. Neither Connington over here or I knew each other when we met. But we fought together and we became friends like that," Robert said. A simple explanation, but Robert felt it was more than enough for Rhaegar Targaryen

Robert left out the part of him which said that Connington wasn't his friend. He can't be his friend. Only Ned could ever come close to it. But if saying this took Rhaegar off Robert's back, then he'd say it and more.

"But you don't even train in the yard with me," Rhaegar said, his voice very close to a whine. "How can we become friends if we do not spend time together?"

Robert merely grunted in reply. Jon Connington, however, began speaking and Robert was sure he wouldn't like what Connington had to say.

"It is because Robert is afraid of entering the training yard with you, your grace," Jon Connington said with a smug tone.

Robert tightened his grip on Connington's shoulder. Connington hissed but Rheagar continued, oblivious to Robert's embarrassment or perhaps even worse, teasing him.

"But why so?" Rhaegar asked and Robert saw the smirk on his face and knew that Rhaegar was having a jape at his expense.

"He might lose and throw his weapon at you again, your grace," Connington replied.

At this, both Rhaegar and Jon laughed as if it was the greatest jape they had ever heard in their life. Robert sulked in his position between them and looked for something to stop them from laughing at him. Sure enough, he noticed that they had come to the tower which held the Grand Maester's chambers at last.

"Enough with your nonsensical laughter. We are here," Robert said.

Jon and Rhaegar looked up and saw that they were indeed there. With some difficulty they carried Robert up the stairs and knocked on the heavy wooden doors leading into the Maester's chambers. One of the Grand Maester's assistants opened the door and they shuffled inside, allowing Robert to sit on a chair near the door.

"Where is Pycelle?" Robert demanded instantly.

The boy seemed a little cowed under the gaze of the curious trio and took some time to gather himself and answer. Robert tapped the arms of the chair he sat in impatiently as he waited for the assistant to answer.

"The Grand Maester has been summoned away. It was an emergency. M'lord," he replied.

"What emergency?" Robert asked. He had a lot of frustration within himself and this Maester-in-training would be a perfect target for him.

"It was the Kingsguard," the boy replied again.

"Speak full sentences, gods dammit," Robert screamed.

At this, the boy cringed some more and Jon Connington put a hand on Robert's shoulder, perhaps to tell him to calm down. Robert cared not for that anymore. Rhaegar was standing by the window, looking out towards the city. It appeared that he did not care about this lowly assistant either.

"It's Ser Harlan Grandison. He has collapsed in the yard and Grand Maester Pycelle has gone to check on him and administer treatment, if necessary," the boy stammered out.

"Collapsed? What do you mean collapsed?" Robert demanded. This assistant was really grating on Robert's nerves. He started stammering something out and Jon spoke up.

"Be clear when you speak. And tend to Lord Robert's ankle," Jon ordered, soft but unyielding.

The lad hastened to obey and knelt in front of Robert. He took Robert's ankle in his hand and started prodding and poking at it. Robert hissed in pain.

"Watch it," Robert warned.

"S-sorry, m'lord," the boy said.

He got up and walked to a large cabinet near the wall. He took out from it a piece of silk cloth, the sort which would pass for a bandage. He wrapped it tightly around Robert's ankle, causing Robert some minor pain. Then, he walked back to the cabinet and brought out a cane, small enough to serve as a walking stick for someone of Robert's height.

Robert snatched the cane from the boy's hands as soon as he brought it near him. He observed it, turning it around in his hands. The cane was made of heavy, dark wood. It was inlaid with silver going up its length in spirals. When Robert turned it around in his hands, the spirals seemed to move of their own accord, independent of the cane. And then, there was its grip.

A silver three-headed dragon stared up at him, sapphires for its eyes. Unlike the Targaryen crest, whose dragons faced sideways, all three heads on this cane faced the same direction. They stared at him accusingly, holding him responsible, the weight of the future felt all at once acutely on his shoulders. Robert looked away.

He put the cane to a side and tried to stand up by his own power. He would not depend on it. He could not bear to look at it. This was a second chance for him. He ought to ensure that everything in his life was finally perfect. The way it should be. The way it will be. And yet, the three-headed dragon looked at him accusingly.

Robert put his weight on both legs and just as it had a few minutes ago, his left leg gave out again. Jon, who was standing beside Robert, rushed to help him. He helped Robert steady himself and handed him the cane which Robert had put aside. Robert took it from him but fell back into the chair.

Jon gave him a look and frowned. He then turned back to the Grand Maester's apprentice and spoke.

"Have you determined the extent of Lord Robert's injury?" Jon asked.

"It is merely a sprain, m'lord," the apprentice said, wringing his hands. "A few days of rest will be enough time for it to heal on its own."

"Hmph," Jon said and crossed his arms across his chest.

Robert looked back at the three-headed dragon. It did not remind him of the Targaryens. The silver metal reminded him of Bloodraven. The light from the window caught the sapphires it had and they glinted just as the eyes of the Others did. Just as Ned's eyes did. They reminded him of the promise he made to Bloodraven, all those days ago, in a cave, under the roots of a weirwood tree. Perhaps Ned's gods were not as dead as he thought them to be.

Truth be told, he had avoided the godswood in the Red Keep after what had happened at Bronzegate. The incident with the raven had left Robert grasping at explanations. Was it Bloodraven's way of reminding him of his promise, his duty? He had quickly it put it out of his mind, then. Robert had since tried his hardest not to think of it any further. Such magicks reeked of Bloodraven's taint even if he might not have done it himself.

But now, gazing into the blue eyes of the dragon he held in his hands, his thoughts betrayed him and went to Bloodraven and the promise he made. The promise he had tried his damned hardest to forget so that he might live out the perfect instance of his life. It came back to him, pounced upon like a shadowcat on its prey.

Robert had promised Bloodraven that he would protect the realms of men. He promised that he would fight for the living. And what had he done? This question rose treacherously through Robert's mind. He had only succeeded in making enemies. Was making friends not his greatest strength? Everyone spoke of how Robert Baratheon had the charisma and the grace to turn his enemies to his friends, his weaknesses to his strengths. When had that become a thing of the stories? Was it not true anymore? Here he was, lecturing Rhaegar fucking Targaryen on how to make friends when all he had done was burn bridges and make enemies.

"I do not think we should send word to your father through a raven," Rhaegar said out of the blue, drawing Robert out of the spiral his thoughts took him in.

"Huh?" Robert replied.

Jon looked them strangely and opened his mouth, but closed it again. Robert took pity on him. Even if he didn't tell it to him now, he'd find out anyway.

"Tywin has taken it upon himself to arrange a marriage for me," Robert said. "Or at least a betrothal."

"But he can't do that!" Jon said, seemingly outraged on Robert's behalf. His hands were curled into fists and anger was writ clearly on his face. Robert was glad that at least someone was outraged on his behalf, even if it was Jon Connington of all people.

"You are merely his ward, nothing more. You must let Lord Steffon know of this immediately," Jon said further.

"That is where I was going when I bumped into Ser Cortnay," Robert explained.

Robert looked back at Rhaegar. He turned away from the window he had been looking out of, his contemplations apparently finished. Rhaegar leaned back towards the window, his elbows on the window sill. The light came in from behind his head and Rhaegar's long hair shrouded his face in shadow. For the most infinitesimal part of a second, Robert thought he was looking at Bloodraven.

"But why do you say that I should not send my message by raven?" Robert asked Rhaegar.

"I just remembered something which Lord Tywin said to you. Maybe you forgot in your haste," Rhaegar said.

"What is it?" Robert demanded.

"Lord Tywin mentioned that your father charged him with ensuring that you have a good match," Rhaegar said.

"So?" Robert asked. He was beginning to grow vexed with Rhaegar. It seemed he spoke only in bursts and never enough to tell what he had to.

"So, even if you happen to be able to send a message to Lord Steffon, he would not do anything," Jon finished for Rhaegar, catching the meaning.

"I know that. You already told this to me anyway," Robert ground out. "I'm not stupid."

"Then, what is the issue, Robert?" Rhaegar asked. "You said you wanted my help and here I am. Now tell me why you oppose the betrothal."

Rhaegar fixed Robert with a steady stare. The tension in the room physically grew and Jon shuffled about in his place at Robert's side, unwilling to intrude on this argument. The Grand Maester's apprentice wisely beat a hasty retreat.

Robert knew he had to tread carefully here. He could not in any way let Rhaegar find out the real reason. If Rhaegar found out about his love for Lyanna, it would spell doom for his promise of protecting the realm from the Others. Spouting out what would seem like nonsense wouldn't be conducive for Robert's efforts. Robert looked away from Rhaegar and down to the sapphire eyes of the cane in his hands. It only stared back at him.

"I fear Tywin might use my betrothal to further his own ambitions," Robert said finally.

Rhaegar snorted. "You clearly have no regard for Lord Tywin in any way."

"Yes, I don't," Robert said bluntly. "I did not want to be fostered here and certainly not with him."

And as Robert uttered this, he finally felt some tension which had been building up in him through the past few moons release. He had never wanted to be here, true. He had also never told anyone of this. At first, it had been he had not wanted to disappoint his father. By the time he had realized what he had gotten himself into, it was too late.

His secret wasn't out, but a part of him felt lighter regardless.

"You do not know my father as I do, Robert," Rhaegar said abruptly.

"What do you mean? Why do you say this? Why now?" Robert asked. He felt that he would not like what Rhaegar had to say.

"You've only seen my father after the birth of my brother. Previously, my mother had many miscarriages and stillbirths," Rhaegar said.

"Of course, I know this," Robert said, but the sense of foreboding he had did not recede. Jon signed himself with the seven-pointed star for some reason.

"Let me finish," Rhaegar said sharply and Robert wisely shut up.

"These affected him adversely. Him, me and my mother were the only three Targaryens left in existence. Before my brother was born, my father had developed a deep sense of paranoia, mistrusting everyone, even his Lord Hand," Rhaegar said. He continued before Robert could interject.

"If you formed your opinions about Lord Tywin due to your own father's influence, it could be that Lord Steffon's view of Lord Tywin might have been coloured by my father's words," Rhaegar said.

That was not the sum of it, Rober knew. Even if he had not known of Aerys's madness, he could have sensed that something was amiss in Rhaegar's story. Even Jon realized it. Robert would not press on it, of course. He already knew of Aerys's madness. Whether he listened to it from Rhaegar or not made no difference to him.

"So, what I mean to say is, my father might have mentioned a Dornish bride simply so that he might cause a rift between you and Lord Tywin," Rhaegar finished.

This was not what Rhaegar had meant to say at all, Robert suddenly realized. He understood now. Perhaps there was no Dornish bride. Aerys, in his madness and cruelty, had wanted to see how Robert would react to being told of a Dornish bride. Robert plight was amusement to the Mad King. Robert's hands balled themselves into fists, but he forced himself to relax. He could do nothing to the King. Not now, anyway. He had a promise to fulfil and a woman to marry.

"Tywin did say that he expected me to meet him in his solar after a while. Perhaps it is to discuss matter of this betrothal?" Robert wondered. He'd go meet Tywin now and see what he had to say.

Rhaegar nodded from all the way across the room, leaning on the window and Robert stood up, leaning on the cane to support his weight. Jon put a hand on his shoulder to steady him, but Robert did not need it. He traced the outline of the dragons' eyes on the cane. Perhaps it was time he stopped letting events pass him by and start making his mark on the world once more. He was Robert fucking Baratheon, after all.

AN: And here is yet another chapter of Once upon a Summer Moon. I really enjoyed writing this and making Robert justify things. Robert's situation is certainly not enviable. He has no place to go and nothing to do. Confrontation with Tywin in the next chapter of course, so stay tuned. This will continue to be more and more interesting as we go on. To misquote an old Chinese proverb: Robert is cursed to live an interesting life.

And as always, do let me know what you think of it. Did you like it? Hate it? Want to complain? I thrive off of feedback and it helps sustain me. Thanks for reading!


	7. Some Unwanted Lessons

_**~Some Unwanted Lessons~**_

Robert stood in front of Tywin Lannister leaning on his cane. His fingers traced the eyes of the three-headed dragon in his grasp, seeking comfort. Both Robert and Tywin stared at each other intently. Tywin, to put Robert ill at ease and Robert, not caring one way or the other. After a few heavy seconds of silence, Tywin spoke.

"How did you come to be injured?" Tywin asked, peering down at Robert's leg.

"I fell down. My lord." Robert added the last part hastily, not wanting to cause undue offence. Even if he felt that the Old Lion deserved it.

"And how long will it take for you to recover from this?"

"It is merely a sprain, my lord. A few days of rest is all I need," Robert replied.

Tywin gestured towards a chair in front of the desk he sat at and Robert walked over to sit down in it. He held the cane between his hands, twirling it around, the weight of it comfortingly solid.

"You know why I called you here," Tywin stated.

"Yes, my lord. It was to discuss my betrothal."

Tywin peered at Robert from across the table once more, his hands steepled beneath his chin. He seemed to be judging Robert's worth. Or so felt his gaze, piercing Robert with its intensity.

"When I asked the Kingsguard not to let anyone else inside Maegor's Holdfast, it was primarily to stop _you_ from chancing upon my meeting with the King," Tywin said.

Robert was taken aback at this.

"_Me?_ Why would you not want me to be in attendance? You and the King were talking about me! It was about _my _betrothal!"

"It is exactly because of this. It is because of how you have become so indignant at the thought of you not having any say in your betrothal," Tywin answered.

"Of course, I would be outraged!" Robert spat out.

"Yes. And I knew that you would. Even if I hadn't thought of anticipating your behaviour, your father warned me of this. You are more like him than you realize."

This stopped Robert's rising ire in its tracks. His face must have shown how he felt and Tywin continued speaking.

"Do you know why your father married your mother?"

Whatever Robert thought Tywin would say, this was certainly not it. Robert could not comprehend what the Old Lion was trying to get at.

"No. I do not know. And what does this have to do with anything?"

"Patience is a virtue. And one which you are sorely lacking in. Remedy this at the earliest," Tywin said.

Robert thought it was ridiculous for the Old Lion of all people to speak of being virtuous. He would have snorted if Tywin hadn't his eye on Robert at that time. He seemed to be looking at Robert expectantly. It took Robert a moment to realize what he wanted.

"Yes, my lord," Robert replied and Tywin continued his tale once more.

"As you know, your grandfather married the Princess Rhaelle. While this was as great a match as anyone in the realm could ask for, it did nothing to improve the situation within the Stormlands. Tell me, do you know why the Laughing Storm rebelled?"

These were the stories Robert had heard from when he was at his mother's breast. And the Laughing Storm was his idol when he was growing up. He had wanted to be as adored and revered as the man had grown to become in the Stormlands by the time of Robert's birth. He hoped that he had succeeded. Robert began the story.

"Of course. Aegon the Unlikely promised the hand of his son to Lord Lyonel's daughter. But the Prince of Dragonflies married for love and thus slighted the Lord Lyonel. Because of this, he decided to teach the King a lesson about respecting the rights of his vassals and not slighting those who remained steadfastly loyal."

"The Laughing Storm rebelled against the King and declared himself the Storm King as the Durrandons of old. He would have brought war and destruction to the Crownlands and more. But he was defeated in a trial of champions, him for his cause and the Lord Commander Ser Duncan the Tall for his King. And as a leal subject, the king forgave him and offered the hand of his daughter, the Princess Rhaelle, as recompense for the Prince of Dragonflies. And so peace came to the realm once more."

"Is that the version they taught you in the Stormlands?" Tywin asked, an edge of derision in his tone.

"It is not a story! It is the truth!" Robert exclaimed.

"You will find, young Robert, that there are many truths in this world, and each person uses only that truth which benefits them the most."

Robert knew that of course. He had been the king for close to two decades. He would know all about it. Each person only had something to do with him because they had something they wanted, something only he, as the king, could give. It was why he had excused himself from the general affairs of the realm very early on, leaving stuff in the hands of Jon Arryn and later Ned. Them, he could trust explicitly. The rest had their own agenda, their own plan. Their own truth.

Robert did not forgo the task of ruling the realm because he was not up to it. He forewent it because he did not want to. That was what he always told himself.

"When the Laughing Storm rose up, all of the Stormlands did so without any grudge or resentment, caring not about the fear of censure from the King. Such was the love and respect he commanded. And yet, what did they gain for their efforts? Nothing," Tywin explained.

"But the rebellion was bloodless! Not even a single battle was fought! The only _fight_, if we can even call it that, was between Ser Duncan and Lord Lyonel," Robert protested.

"Indeed. But Lord Lyonel's vassals had obeyed him. And they expected a reward for it," Tywin said.

"But it was their duty!" Robert protested once more. He would have said some more, but he was abruptly reminded of Stannis and promptly shut up.

"Duty it might be, but you cannot stop men's desire. And you tell me this, do you believe them to be wrong to desire a reward for their leal service?" Tywin asked.

Robert looked away. He had no answer to this.

"Remember this, Robert, very few men do what they do out of duty. When you become a lord, understand that your vassals obey you because they _must _and you reward them because you _should_. Never lift them to a position even equal to your own."

"Yes, my lord."

"To continue from where we left off, the lords of the Stormlands were discontent with their lot. But the Lord Lyonel wasn't ignorant of this. His daughter, who was to be married to Prince Duncan, was instead used for alliances within the Stormlands. Let this be a lesson to you, Robert."

"Yes, my lord." This constant acquiescence was getting tiring very quickly.

"What is this lesson then, that I am trying to teach you?" Tywin asked quickly.

"Uh… it is… to have daughters to marry to our vassals?" Robert guessed.

Tywin frowned, his lips turning down in disapproval.

"Crudely put. If you have something to say, speak once and speak clearly. Hesitating over your own words is a sign of weakness and will be interpreted as such."

"Yes, my lord," Robert said. Again.

"The lesson here is that your family is the greatest strength you have. Lord Lyonel had his daughter to soothe the tensions between his vassals and himself. A time will come when you will have to make the same choice."

"But let us get on with the story. With the help of his daughter, Lord Lyonel satisfied his vassals. But they were not entirely satiated. And so, when Lord Ormund, your grandfather, became the Lord of Storm's End, he hoped to marry his son with the daughter of the strongest lord in the Stormlands after himself."

"I see you've come to a conclusion. Speak," Tywin said, after finishing his explanation.

"House Estermont _isn't_ the most powerful lordly house in the Stormlands," Robert said.

"No. That honour belongs to one among Dondarrion, Swann, Staedmon or even Connington. So, what does this tell you?" Tywin asked.

"That my grandfather had my father married to my mother so that House Estermont as a rival could become the target of these Houses' schemes instead of us?"

"A very good justification," Tywin said. He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms across his chest. "The very same your father gave to your grandfather, in fact."

This threw Robert for a loop.

"Why would my father have to justify this to my grandfather? Didn't he arrange this marriage in the first place?" Robert asked.

"No. Here lies the crux of the matter. It is why your father told me you would not be receptive to arranging a betrothal. Your father himself did not wish to be bound by a betrothal. He found it suffocating. Just as you are no doubt feeling now."

"But he still married my mother," Robert protested.

"Yes, he did. But it was not she that he was betrothed to. Your father was betrothed to the daughter of Lord Hugh Grandison. Perhaps it was your father's luck that she died of the flux. For your father loved your mother and had decided that he would only marry her. Someway or another, he was able to convince your grandfather of the same."

Robert's mind reeled. His father had married for _love_? But it was a problem now that he wanted to marry Lyanna? Why was his love any different? What made his father's love any more worthy than his?

"So you now understand the necessity of arranging a proper match for you?" Tywin asked.

"No. Even if I were to accept this convoluted explanation you gave me, why should I marry a Dornish bride in the first place?" Robert countered.

"There is no question of you _accepting _or _rejecting_ the betrothal I am bringing for you. You will do it because it is your duty to your family and to ensure that you have a better future. You may despise me and your father for it now, but you will understand how blessed you are later in your life."

Tywin's tone was firm and brooked no argument. Robert knew it was a waste of breath to argue with him anyway. Besides, the man was too fond of punishments for Robert's tastes. He had to find some way of breaking this betrothal on his own. Robert steeled himself and spoke.

"Then, who is it that I will be betrothed to?" Robert asked, as kingly as he could remember to be.

The glimmer in Tywin's eye changed. Perhaps he took the change in Robert's tone as a sign of acquiescence.

"Your bride will be Princess Elia Martell, the daughter of the Princess Loreza of Dorne."

This was the worst choice of all Dornishwomen he could have been offered. Robert did not believe that he could ever think of anything but Lyanna when Elia Martell was brought up. Rhaegar had set her aside for Lyanna, after all. Robert was sure that she could in no way compare to his Lyanna.

It was to Robert's eternal shame that she reminded him of two small bodies wrapped up in Lannister cloaks, stained a deeper red. It was for the good of the realm, Robert told himself, when he had condoned it. But on those rare days when Robert slept alone, those two bodies in Lannister red cloaks stared at him accusingly, denying him sleep.

He had to stop this betrothal at all costs. Anyone but her. Robert knew he'd never have a moment's true peace if it was her.

"Will my marriage not be a way to soothe slighted vassals?" Robert asked in reply. "After all the discussion we had, I thought that was the main concern we had to deal with."

"Surely, you are not so stupid as that. You must know why you are being chosen a match from outside the Stormlands," Tywin said mockingly.

Robert's hand tightened around the cane he held. He forced himself to calm down and spoke.

"Please enlighten me, my lord. I truly do not know what you speak of," Robert said.

"Think, boy. Where are you being fostered? With whom have you formed a friendship? What has King Aerys offered you on the very first day you got here?"

Tywin leaned forward once more, one hand on the table, the other propping up his face. He studied Robert intently. Robert tried to recall what Aerys had told him all those days ago.

"I'm being fostered here on King's Landing, of course. And the king said that once I was knighted, I would be offered a position befitting my status, here at court," Robert said, once more unsure of where this question was leading to.

"What did you think a position befitting your status was?" Tywin asked.

Robert twirled the cane around in his hands as he thought about it.

"Truth be told, I did not pay it much heed," Robert replied. And that was an honest reply. Robert did not think much of Mad Aerys's words that day. He dismissed them out of hand as some inane ramblings that very same day.

"The King means to offer you a seat on his Small Council. And your friendship with Prince Rhaegar ensures that you will continue to hold that seat even after the Prince ascends the Iron Throne."

It was for the first time in his life that Robert could remember being entirely speechless. He stopped thinking for a while, trying to digest what Tywin had just told him.

"Me? On the Small Council? I would not be a great fit for it, my lord," Robert said after a while, having gathered his thoughts.

"No, you would not," Tywin said bluntly. "At least you know enough to acknowledge your faults. But that is why you are being fostered under me."

"Do you realize how this marriage would help you now?" Tywin asked.

"The Dornish would be my allies, here in King's Landing," Robert said, realization dawning upon him. "But what of the Stormlands? When I become the lord of Storm's End, what then?"

"Think deeper, boy. Think deeper. Who would be your castellan, if you are to be here and you are also the lord of Storm's End?" Tywin asked once more.

"My brother, of course," Robert replied, though he'd prefer Renly over Stannis.

"And it is your brother, who will rule in your name, that will have a Stormlander match. To ensure peace in the Stormlands and satisfaction in your vassals," Tywin finished.

And even Robert, who hated this betrothal and never wanted it to happen, had to grudgingly admit that it was a sound plan. He was sure he could find a flaw in it if he thought hard enough, but it was sound nonetheless. He had to find some other way to escape this betrothal.

Robert was jerked out of his thoughts when someone knocked on the door.

"Enter," Tywin intoned.

Ser Alton Lannett entered and bowed deeply to Tywin.

"Ser Rickard has passed, my lord. I come directly from his cell in the White Sword Tower. The Grand Maester is preparing his body for his funeral as we speak," he said and made the sign of the seven-pointed star.

Tywin did likewise. Then, he addressed Ser Alton.

"Has the King given any indication of when he wants to hold the trials?" Tywin asked.

Robert was perplexed. Who was this Ser Rickard and what were these trials that Aerys needed to hold?

"Yes, my lord. He asked for the Grand Maester to send out ravens this very day. He has also set the day of the trials to be of three moons from now," Ser Alton said.

"Very well. And what of Ser Gordon Grey?" Tywin asked.

"He has made no effort to change his situation, my lord. But the King is sure to invite him to the hunt he has planned next week," Ser Alton replied.

"That is all. You may leave," Tywin ordered.

Ser Alton bowed and left just as he came. Tywin turned to look back at Robert and he must have recognised the look Robert had.

"You have questions," Tywin said.

"Yes. Who is this Ser Rickard and who is Ser Gordon Grey?" Robert asked.

Tywin's lip curled into a sneer at this question. Robert had a feeling Tywin had already expected him to know the answer to this question.

"It is disgraceful of you to keep on asking questions to which you ought to know the answers to already," Tywin said. "Ser Rickard Rowan was a knight of the Kingsguard. I did not expect you to know of Ser Gordon Grey, but not knowing about Ser Rickard is unbecoming of you, both as a member of the royal court and as my squire."

"But that can't be true! How can the Grand Maester be with this Ser Rickard when he was supposed to be tending to Ser Harlan Grandison?" Robert protested.

"This is no time to jape, boy. If you did not know of this knight of the Kingsguard even a year after your arrival here it is no one's fault but yours. Do not make up a story to cover your own faults. Pycelle has been with Ser Rickard since last night tending to him as he lay dying," Tywin said sternly.

"No, no. That is not it," Robert said hastily. He had a feeling something wrong was afoot. "The Grand Maester's apprentice told me that he was treating Ser Grandison."

"What nonsense do you speak of now? Pycelle has _no_ apprentice," Tywin pronounced and the weight of these words fell on Robert with the force of a warhammer.

"Impossible. You _must_ believe me, my lord. I was treated by the man. He gave me this cane. He tied this bandage 'round my leg. As a matter of fact, Prince Rhaegar and Jon Connington were with me too," Robert replied.

He tightened his grip on the cane, one hand holding on to its shaft while the other wound itself around the dragons' head. Tywin fixed Robert with a glare and spoke.

"Maesters aren't sent as apprentices. If a Maester becomes too old to perform his duties or requests a helper, a new one is sent from the Citadel. All prospective Maester's are trained only at the Citadel. Tell me, did this man at least have a Maester's chain around his neck?"

Robert took a moment to think about the encounter he had barely an hour ago. True the boy had seemed shifty then, but Robert assumed it was due to his fear of a proper lord. But now, it was almost as if the boy was a spy or a catspaw. Most significantly, he did _not_ have a Maester's chain.

"No," Robert replied slowly. "He did not."

"I had suspected as much. Pycelle is not so infirm as to require the need of an assistant" Tywin got up to leave. "You are dismissed. I must look into the case of this apprentice. Someone, possibly unknown, gaining this easy access to you or the Prince cannot be allowed."

Robert nodded and slowly rose to his own feet. He leaned on his cane and watched as Tywin walked over from behind the table to stand in front of him. Robert _hated_ that he had to look up at Tywin. He had been so much taller and being this short was vexing.

"I realize now that I must take a more active hand in your education. You have been left to your own devices and it has made your brain rot. You've become completely incapable of critical thought. If you had even a little knowledge of the people here in King's Landing, you would have realised the truth about this fake Maester." Tywin looked absolutely furious, though Robert could not discern if it was due to Robert or due to the Master of Whispers' failure at rooting out spies.

Tywin's demeanour settled back into indifference from his earlier anger. "The King will be going on a hunt next week with the court," he said, catching Robert off guard with the change in topic.

"You are to join me there," Tywin said, looking down on Robert.

"Yes, my lord."

"So, within this week you are to find out about everyone who is worthy of note here in the capital. It is high time you remedy your ignorance about the royal court. During the hunt, I shall ask you to describe to me whomever I please and for every person you fail to recognise or describe, you shall be lashed five times."

Tywin had a severe look on his face. Robert knew wasn't a jape. The Old Lion never japed. He wasn't the Laughing Lion, after all. But this threat of punishment still grated on Robert's nerves. He was afraid of Tywin punishing him. He was irritated by it. It would cause Robert a not-insignificant amount of discomfort.

"Do you understand?" Tywin asked, his voice hard.

"Yes, my lord."

Tywin nodded and walked away. Robert, however, stood rooted to the spot, his cane offering no support or comfort. Robert's mind was left reeling with thoughts of betrothals and knights and fake apprentices.

**AN: **The Kingsguard of Aerys are both well defined and not at the same time. Jaime was appointed to the Kingsguard after Ser Harlans' death. Owing to the young age of Arthur Dayne, he must have been appointed to the Kingsguard not too much earlier than that. I have assumed that this Ser Rickard Rowan, an expendable Kingsguard will be the person who dies for Arthus Dayne to become the Kingsguard.

But what of Lewyn Martell? If we assume he was inducted to the Kingsguard with Elia's marriage to Rhaegar, who does he replace. Are the Kingsguard seven including the LC or excluding? Please help me with this.

As always, do let me know how you felt about this. Did you like it? Hate it? Want to complain? Do let me know. I thrive off of feedback. And finally, thanks for reading!


	8. An Unexpected Experience

_**~An Unexpected Experience~**_

The boar was charging straight at Robert and there was neither place nor time to run from it. It would reach him faster than he could move. Robert preferred it that way. There was no honour in running from his enemies, be it men or boars. In that very second, the boar reached him. Robert took a step and thrust his short spear forward, meeting its charge head-on. He could feel the spear slice through the boar. At the same time, a searing pain rose up Robert's chest as the boar gored him in turn.

Then, Robert awoke with a gasp.

He looked around wildly, clutching at the sheets that covered him. It took him a moment to place himself in Tywin's chambers and he relaxed his grip on the sheets. A long sliver of moonlight squeezed its way through the drapes over the window to fall on Robert's bed.

The sapphires on Robert's hand shone with the light.

Three days after his conversation with Tywin, Robert found that he no longer needed the help of his cane to walk. So, early that day, he left it by his bed and went on with his duties. He attended his first session in the training yard. He returned to lessons with Pycelle and he followed Tywin to court. And yet, something felt amiss. A sense of unease dogged Robert's heels that day.

The very next day, he took the cane to Ser Cortnay and asked for its head to be made into a ring. Ser Cortnay had asked no questions but when Robert had retired to his quarters at the end of the day, the ring waited for him in his bed. All three heads of the dragon wrapped themselves around each like three snakes biting each other's tails. The sapphires were still set in the dragons' eyes and they still shone with the same captivating intensity.

Robert looked away from the ring. Judging by the darkness, it was probably close to midnight. Robert lay back on his bed and tried to sleep. He would have to wake up earlier the next day. It was the day of the hunt and Robert had heard from Rhaegar that Aerys wanted to hunt harts par force. It was a tiring affair when Robert had been in his prime. As he was now, Robert was sure he needed to rest to be able to participate in the hunt.

True sleep still eluded him that night as he rested fitfully and dreamt in bursts of everything and anything. By the time a servant came to wake him up that morning, Robert was anything but well-rested. His eyes were still somewhat red and a little puffed up when he went into the entrance chamber in the Tower of the Hand. Tywin was waiting for him there, already dressed in the attire for hunting.

He gave Robert a look once over and spoke.

"I shall be leaving presently to attend to the King," Tywin said, barely casting a glance at Robert as he looked over the red leathers he wore, adjusting its fitting. "The rest of our party shall be waiting in the courtyard adjoining the Main Gate. Ser Ilyn shall escort you there. Wait for me and the King. We shall be departing in an hour. Speak with the Master of the Hunt and ensure that all preparations are in place."

Tywin finally looked at Robert. He seemed to size Robert up before speaking.

"For your own sake, I hope you are up to the task of accomplishing this minor job," Tywin said.

Robert gritted his teeth. "Yes, my lord." Robert promised himself that Tywin would get his reckoning for all that he put Robert through. One way or another.

Tywin nodded once before leaving the room with a swish of his cloak behind him, a simpering Alton following closely behind. The sound of a throat clearing itself brought to Robert's notice the other occupant of the room.

Ser Ilyn Payne grinned at Robert from where was standing, leaning by the wall. Like Tywin, he too wore leathers more suited to hunting than the usual armour he preferred. At the sight of him, slouched casually against the wall, Robert too grinned despite himself, his earlier anger at Tywin forgotten in the barest of a moment.

"Ser Ilyn! I take it you will be joining us on the hunt, then?" Robert asked, raising his hand in greeting to the man.

Ilyn did the same in return and spoke. "Indeed, young lord. Where Lord Tywin goes, I must follow," he said with a wry twist to his lips. "But we must make haste, my lord. Lord Tywin and the King are sure not to take too long."

Robert nodded. "Certainly, Ser. Lead on," Robert said graciously and followed Ser Ilyn outside the Hand's chambers.

Like Tywin and Ser Ilyn, Robert too wore light armour, cured leather all of it. It was of the deepest black and sewn in pure gold thread. On his right breast lay a shield embroidered in the same golden thread, with an outline of a stag done in the thread while the black leather of the chest piece formed its body.

Robert wore the outfit proudly. The day before he left Storm's End for King's Landing, his mother had shown it to him, telling him that it was a gift from his father.

"Your father wants you to have this with you. The King is fond of hunting in the Kingswood, he says. You will surely be asked to accompany him, as Lord Tywin's squire. Represent our house to the best of your ability," his mother said softly, as she presented it to him. "What are our House words?"

"Ours is the Fury," Robert whispered back, emotion choking his voice.

His mother smiled and pressed a soft kiss to his forehead, before leaving him to oversee his packing.

Robert had been given no such present when he had left for the Eyrie in his first childhood. That made him cherish this gift all the more. It reminded him of what he sought to save. He would not lose his family once more. They would not go to Essos for Rhaegar's bride. They would not drown in a storm, so close to home. Robert would travel in their stead if needs be, but they would remain safe. This he promised himself the very day he left for King's Landing.

So lost was Robert in his thoughts, that he had followed Ser Ilyn blindly and only realized that he had arrived just as the party assembled for the hunt came into view. All of them arrayed in clumps around the Main Gate. The portcullis hadn't been raised yet. Everyone was waiting for the King and his Hand.

Robert stifled a yawn as he walked into the courtyard with Ser Ilyn. The day hadn't yet broken and the dim light of approaching dawn cast the assemblage into the shadow of Red Keep, the rising sun still behind the tall towers of Maegor's Holdfast.

Ser Ilyn left Robert as they entered into the courtyard proper, veering off to talk with a few redcloaks. Robert looked around to place any familiar faces. He saw Jon Connington talking to Robert's own cousin Aemon Estermont. They looked up just as Robert's eye fell on them. Aemon waved, a wide grin on his face and Jon Connington too raised his hand in greeting.

Robert greeted them as well but did not walk over. He was looking for another person. The Master of the Hunt, to be more precise. In his search, he came across Rhaegar, who was standing with two knights of the Kingsguard. Robert placed without much difficulty as Ser Jonothor Darry and Ser Oswell Whent. Rhaegar nodded at Robert in greeting as he passed by and Robert nodded back at him begrudgingly.

Finally, almost after completing a full circuit of the courtyard, Robert found the Master of Hunt in conversation with the kennel master, Emmet. Ser Gilbert Manning was a lordling of middling stature from somewhere in the Crownlands. Truth be told, if given a map, Robert could not place his lands on it, even at swordpoint. If he hadn't been the Master of Hunt, Robert was sure he would never have even taken a second look at the man.

"I trust that all the preparations are complete, Ser," Robert said from behind the man, not caring for any greeting.

The man flinched at the suddenness of the question before turning around to face Robert. His eyes drifted for a moment to the sigil at Robert's breast before understanding flashed through his eyes. At once, his demeanour changed. He bowed deeply before Robert and the smile on his face made Robert want to punch him. _If there ever was a master bootlicker, it is Gilbert Manning_.

"My Lord Baratheon!" Manning said, bowing once more. "As you can see, I am now surveying the quality of hounds to be used in the hunt. I've instructed the kennel master to have the most bloodthirsty hounds used in this hunt."

Robert wanted to smack the man for his stupidity. How did such an incompetent fool become the Master of the Hunt?

"If only the most bloodthirsty hounds are used," Robert spoke, crossing his arms across his chest as he did so, "how do you propose to control them when the hart is at bay?"

"Ah… my lord, that is to say…" Manning stammered and looked at the kennel master who shrugged in reply.

"Ensure that even-tempered hounds are put in the relay, not bloodthirsty ones," Robert said, turning towards the kennel master before addressing Manning once more. "And are the horses and weapons ready? Or must I go and speak to the stable master and the Master-at-arms myself?" Robert asked, derision clear in his tone.

"Oh, they are, my lord. I have seen to it personally. From the King's favourite warhorse to the lowest squire's youngest colt. All are in the stable, ready for us to set out," Manning said, his smile back on his face as he pointed to the stables. Sure enough, the stable hands were busy rubbing down horses and feeding them.

"What of the implements of the hunt? Spear, bow, arrows? Have you arranged for enough?" Robert asked.

The man nodded vigorously and Robert was worried for a moment that his head might fall off.

"They've been inventoried and put for transport there, my lord," Manning said. He pointed to a wagon which had been set beside the stables, already hitched to a pair of draft horses. "You may take stock of it if you wish."

Robert shook his head. "There is no need," he said. Perhaps the man was not as incompetent as he had seemed.

His job done, Robert gave Manning a nod of farewell and turned around not caring to see if the man offered him one in return. Robert's eyes roved the crowd once more, searching for Ser Cortnay and his cousin Aemon. Having found them within a few seconds, he set out. As he walked towards them, he caught sight of Ser Ilyn and strayed from his path.

Robert reached Ser Ilyn. He was still in conversation with a few Lannister men-at-arms, but with his back to Robert. When Robert approached, one of the men, Emrick, if Robert remembered correctly, gestured to Ilyn, who turned around just as Robert reached him.

Ilyn seemed to have expected Robert. "All well, my lord?" he asked.

"Yes. If Tywin so inquires about it, tell him that I have looked into the preparations and they are indeed," Robert put on Tywin's air, "_adequate._"

Ilyn snorted at this, amused by Robert's antics. "I shall, my lord," he said simply.

Robert turned around then and walked over to Ser Cortnay. He pushed through the slowly growing crowd and reached the Stormlander party just as a fanfare of trumpets rang out. Robert heard the loud voice of Erryk Longwaters, the Master of Ceremonies.

"All hail His Grace, King Aerys of House Targaryen, Second of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm."

The entire courtyard went to their knees at once. Robert did not. Jon Connington grabbed him by the arm and pulled him to his knees. But the brief second that Robert had been standing while the others had knelt, he got a clear look at Aerys, who was flanked by Tywin and someone that had to undoubtedly be Lucerys Velaryon, the Master of Ships.

In that instant, as Aerys basked in the glow of a newly risen sun and the exultation of a courtyard full of kneeling subjects, Robert saw him preen in his narcissism.

"Rise all," Aerys spoke in his thin voice, "it is a beautiful day. Let us show our martial vigour and chivalry in today's hunt."

It was rather lacklustre as far rousing words went, but the crowd rose to their feet with a cheer. Robert caught Tywin's eye and he beckoned Robert to come closer.

Robert reached the King and Tywin just in time to catch the end of Lucerys Velaryon's words.

"... and your grace shall indubitably see him as a better Master of Whispers than the Westerman we had before."

"We shall see. I will decide on the matter after the hunt," Aerys replied. He turned around just as Robert approached. Behind Aerys was Rhaegar, who smiled at Robert. Robert tried to smile back, out of politeness if nothing else, but it only came out as a grimace.

"Robar!" Aerys exclaimed. "You are looking very handsome in those leathers, lad. Already trying to impress the ladies, eh? Stay close to me in the Kingswood, boy, and I'll teach you how to hunt with the best of them." His laughter grated on Robert's nerves.

Robert could feel Tywin's eyes on him. "Thank you, your grace," Robert replied politely.

Just then, a groom brought their horses to them. The enormous portcullis was slowly opened and the party mounted their horses as one. Robert saw Connington hastily mount his own horse and nudge it towards Lucerys Velaryon who barely even glanced at him, dismissing him out of hand. For some reason, a sudden burst of anger shot through Robert.

"Let us be off!" Aerys declared.

The party set off from the Red Keep, Aerys, Tywin and Lucerys at its head, the Kingsguard at their flanks. Robert and Rhaegar followed close behind. Just behind them, followed Ser Cortnay and Ser Ilyn and other knights serving as retainers to the King. Finally, at the end were assembled men-at-arms and all the servants carrying everything needed to ensure that a hunt of such proportions went perfectly.

Robert noticed that Aemon had not joined them. He looked around and saw him standing to a side, the reins of a horse in his hands but not making any move to mount it. At his questioning look, Aemon shouted over the din, to be heard.

"I have prior commitments, cousin. Enjoy yourself on this hunt."

Robert snorted. He was sure Aemon was going to the Street of Silk to indulge in his carnal habits. Robert wished he could join, but alas, he was to follow Tywin around and be his squire. Robert shook his head and spurred his horse forward, catching up to the rest of the group.

They had just past the gates of the Red Keep and started their descent down Aegon's High Hill when Jon Connington pulled up beside Robert and Rhaegar.

"Lord Robert, Prince Rhaegar," he greeted, inclining himself slightly on his horse in a semblance of a bow. Robert simply grunted in reply.

"Jon," the Prince greeted. "' Tis a great day for a hunt, is it not?"

By now, the sun had slowly begun its inevitable rise into the sky and shone down strongly on everyone, bringing light and heat to the early morning.

"Of course, your grace. We'll have a magnificent quarry today. I can feel it," Jon replied.

"We're just as like to boil in our leathers if the heat continues to rise," Robert grumbled.

Rhaegar laughed a little and patted Robert on his shoulders. "There will be a cool breeze in the Kingswood, Robert. I have gone on a few hunts before you arrived here. The Kingswood is more pleasant than it seems."

Robert, who was sure he had hunted more in the Kingswood than Rhaegar did, wanted to say what he felt about that but kept mum. Then, he heard a loud cawing and looked up to see a raven flying in lazy circles not too far above them. Robert squinted at it, trying to discern why it was here.

As he continued to gaze at it, Robert felt a little tug in his gut. The sort he had felt when he watched his parents die from Storm's End. The same sort he felt when he was about to face Rhaegar at Ruby Ford. At once, Robert's view changed.

He could see a group of people on horses, far, far below him, snaking through a city which seemed so tiny, he could swallow it up in his beak. Then, he blinked and he was back on his horse, still staring up at the sky.

"... Robert?" he heard Rhaegar call out his name.

"Just watching a bird," Robert replied. His tongue felt dry and numb in his mouth and his heart beat faster than a snare drum playing _the Bear and the Maiden Fair_. Robert twisted the ring he wore around his finger, the sapphires bumping around his fingers as he did so.

"The Prince just asked you if you knew why the Small Council isn't here," Jon repeated.

Robert could not resist the jape that sprang to his lips. "They aren't here because this isn't the Small Council chambers," Robert said and burst out laughing, his earlier agitation almost forgotten in an instant. Almost.

Robert could've sworn he heard a chuckle from behind him, but when he turned around Ser Cortnay's face was set in stone and Ser Ilyn had an easy grin on his face. Jon was not so reticent, however. He let loose a chuckle and even Rhaegar had a little smile on his face.

The raved above them cawed once more and Robert's good cheer vanished like a mirage in the desert. He cleared his throat once and spoke. "I expect that the Master of Laws has been left behind to take care of any affairs if they arise," Robert said.

Rhaegar nodded. "True enough. And Lord Chelsted?" he asked.

Jon laughed. "Forgive me for this, your grace, but Lord Chelsted is incompetent on the best of his days. On this hunt, he might just as well shoot himself accidentally."

Robert laughed at that and Rhaegar too wore a smile. Qarlton Chelsted's prowess at arms, or rather the lack of it, was very well known after all.

"And don't ask me about Larys Hamell," Robert warned after the laughter died out. "I wouldn't know why he isn't here. Mayhaps he is listening to whispers in the Red Keep's walls."

"This is very curious," Rhaegar said, his smile now a frown, "but I do not recall seeing the Master of Whispers this past week."

Jon nodded his agreement. "Indeed, your grace. He usually spares no chance to suck up to the King."

At this, Ser Ilyn nudged his own horse forward and drew in line with them. Robert looked at him questioningly.

"What I am about to tell you, do not repeat elsewhere," Ser Ilyn cautioned, igniting Robert's undying curiosity. "You will most likely find out when we go back to the Keep, but I figured it wouldn't hurt to know."

Rhaegar and Jon too had leaned closer, listening intently. Ser Ilyn looked around to see if anyone else were listening. Robert too had a look around, the secrecy of the matter drawing him in. Aerys, Tywin and Velaryon were far enough ahead that they would not hear what was being said. Behind them, Ser Cortnay had a disapproving frown on his face but said nothing in opposition. The other household knights and retainers were too far away to be of any consequence.

Ser Ilyn had come to the same conclusion as Robert. They were free to speak. And even if they were loud in their words, it would have no consequence for they had just reached the Fishmonger's Square. From there it was a straight ride to King's Gate and few more minutes to cross the ford at Blackwater Rush to enter the Kingswood. This was the best time they had to speak, in the early morning fish market.

"You did not hear it from me," Ser Ilyn said, his voice very serious, a sharp contrast to his usual jovial nature. At emphatic nods from the three, he continued. "The Master of Whispers has been dismissed from service."

"What?" "When?" "Why?"

Ser Ilyn shushed them with his hands. "One at a time. And not so loud. 'Tis no royal secret, but it is a secret until announced, nonetheless." He looked at them and they were sufficiently cowed by his words, taken up with the promise of secrets as of yet unknown to anyone else. Robert was physically shaking, his curiosity and excitement driving him spare. This looked like it was something significant.

"There was a spy at the Red Keep," Ser Ilyn began, and Robert had a sinking feeling in his stomach. He knew where this was going. "We usually have servants spying on nobles and all that rot, but the Master of Whispers has knowledge of small stuff like that. But this was more serious, apparently. A spy or perhaps catspaw was discovered within the Grand Maester's chambers."

Oh! I know about this," Jon interrupted, seemingly excited. "We were there. We were the ones who discovered this spy! Lord Lucerys later questioned me about this too! But I thought that catching this spy was a forgone conclusion, the way Lord Lucerys spoke," he added the last part with a frown.

Rhaegar said nothing, but he had an intense look on his face. Robert figured he was thinking very hard. That or he was trying to induce his heart into a stroke. Either way, Robert knew he wouldn't care.

"We know this already," Robert said to Ser Ilyn, catching himself just before his voice dropped into a whine. "Tell me why Hamell had to be sacked."

"Doesn't the fact that he was grossly incompetent enough to let someone unknown get so close to the Prince suffice," Ser Ilyn asked, a grin back on his face.

Rhaegar interrupted him. "Everyone makes mistakes. There must be something else."

"Maybe they didn't catch this spy, whoever he was," Robert mused, adding his own idea.

Ser Ilyn's smile got a lot sharper at this. "Precisely. And when Lord Tywin launched his own investigation into the matter, many more such spies were found, some even from as far as the North. Lord Tywin was livid. When he took this to the King, his grace raged and raged for hours at the Master of Whispers last night. Threatened to put him to death for treason."

Robert felt a chill crawl up his spine. He could believe Mad Aerys capable of more than that and judging by the look on Rhaegar's face, he believed it too. Hamell was lord of no significance from the middle of the Westerlands. Even if Aerys did have him executed, no one would care overmuch.

"Then what happened?" Jon asked, leaning towards Ser Ilyn so much he almost fell off his horse.

Ser Ilyn shrugged. "Lord Tywin talked the King out from executing the man on the spot, but that's all. He was sent packing within the hour."

"So who'll be the next Master of Whispers then? Do you have any idea?" Robert asked.

Ser Ilyn scratched the stubble on his chin as he thought. "Your guess is as good as mine, young lord. And ultimately, the King will have the final choice in the matter. What do you think, your grace?" he said, the last part directed at Rhaegar.

Rahegar, who still seemed to be lost in thought, jerked out of it when addressed. Robert suppressed a snort at him being caught off guard. "I would not know, to speak truthfully. My father's thoughts are his own and he shares them with me very rarely," Rhaegar said and that seemed to be the end of that.

Ser Ilyn drifted back to ride beside Ser Cortnay once more and Robert noticed them talking about something fiercely, Ser Cortnay gesticulating wildly and pointing towards them as he spoke.

"I wonder who the next Master of Whispers will be?" Jon said. "Maybe it'll be Lord Steffon. What do you think, Robert?"

Robert rolled his eyes in response. "Don't be daft, Connington," he said and he heard Rhaegar snort softly at his tone.

Jon, however, paid him no heed and continued to think about who might become the next Master of Whispers. He spoke about all the lords he knew and who would be suited to the position best. Rhaegar also interjected with his own input. Robert however, was silent. He was still on his horse, as a statue. But in truth, he wasn't upon his horse at all.

Robert high up in the sky, soaring through the clouds, winds at his wingtips and a joyous scream tore through his beak as he cawed at the sky and the sun. He dove, streaking towards the snaking line of men just exiting the city through the Gate by the swift river. As he got closer, he could make out the banners and heralds, stags, lions and dragons by the score and even smaller seahorses and others.

And Robert dove even closer and he could see a man with silver hair on a horse just as silver. Beside him were two other men, on horses of their own and flanked by men in armour white as milk. Just behind them, he could see a boy, dressed in black leathers. He flapped his wings to get even closer, drifting as low to the walls of the city as he could. Then, the boy looked up straight at him and Robert saw himself.

With a small jerk of his body, Robert found himself back on his horse with two arms instead of two wings and mouth instead of a beak. It was not as disorienting as the first time he had done today. _It was exhilarating_, Robert decided, a grin on his lips. He cared not how he was able to do it, only that he could.

He looked around himself and thankfully, no one seemed to have noticed him momentary absence. The hunting party seemed to be crossing a ford on the Blackwater Rush and Robert's horse was lagging behind Rhaegar's and Jon's. He drew up level with them but they were still engrossed in their discussion and seemed to not have noticed him. This suited him perfectly.

From then, until they reached the camp laid inside the Kingswood, Robert was half of the time on his horse, but the other half, he soared through the skies, the raven having followed him from the city and into the woods. When they finally reached where the camp was laid out, the sun had risen up high in the sky and the last vestiges of the night had been surely driven away.

Those servants and men-at-arms who had come earlier from the Red Keep had already constructed a large pavilion as befitting a King. Food to break their fast was served, waiting for them when they arrived. It was then, Robert realised how hungry he was and his stomach grumbled loudly in response. Jon and Rhaegar suddenly turned to him and they chuckled on noticing the cause of the sound.

"I do believe that all of us are just as hungry," Rhaegar said, a smile on his face. Robert could feel his ears burning from embarrassment. He mumbled something incoherent in reply and turned his horse away.

They dismounted their horses and handed over the reins to grooms who had arrived beforehand. Aerys was already seated at the table for him set on a raised dais, Tywin on his right and Velaryon his left. A smaller table was set just in front of the first. Rhaegar made his way there and for lack of a better alternative, Robert followed, Jon hot on his heels.

It was a hearty meal and even Aerys seemed well satisfied by it. The tables had been cleared away after all had eaten and it was time to begin the hunt in earnest. Robert itched to let loose in the forest. The thrill of the chase began to wind itself through him once more.

"What say you, to a little wager, Tywin?" Aerys asked suddenly, a sharp smile on his lips. "The sun is near to its zenith now. We shall meet here again at sundown. Whoever bags the biggest hart, the one with the most tines on its antlers shall be the victor."

Tywin's face was unreadable, but Robert had a bad feeling about this wager. He did not enough about Tywin to judge the quality of his hunt, but Robert was sure Aerys was no master huntsman.

Tywin bowed his head marginally. "As you will, your grace," he said simply. "By your leave, I shall see to my preparations. Robert!" Robert straightened up involuntarily. "Attend to me," Tywin ordered.

Aerys grabbed Robert by the collar of his leather doublet as he was about to leave and drew him closer. "Not so fast, Tywin." Aerys gestured a little trodden path running through the wood away from the clearing they were in. "This shall be our demarcation. You shall hunt to the east of it and me to the west. As for young Robert, well, I did promise to teach him how to hunt. What do you say, Robert?"

Robert looked at Tywin who fixed him with a glare. Robert took it to mean that Tywin did not want him to go with Aerys. Well, Robert would have to stick it to him, then.

"Thank you, your grace," Robert said.

Tywin said nothing but marched off with the swish of his cloak, followed by Ser Illyn and his men at arms. With Aerys stayed Lucerys Velaryon and the Targaryen men-at-arms, along with Robert's men and Ser Cortnay. Jon and Rhaegar were also with him. He looked at them, still trapped with Aerys's arm around his neck. Rhaegar merely shrugged in response while Jon smiled at him.

_This won't end well,_ Robert thought miserably.

**AN: **And here we have yet another chapter of Once Upon a Summer Moon. The hunt proper is in the next chapter, but as we can see, Robert is already trying out new stuff with his ability. As for how the hunt will go, find out in the next chapter.

As always, do let me know how it was. Did you like it? Hate it? Want to complain? I thrive off of feedback, so tell me what you think. Thanks for reading!


	9. A King's Mercy

**_~A King's Mercy~_**

Aerys still had a smile fixed on his face as he watched Tywin march away from him, but Robert could see the agitation in his eyes. He wanted to win this wager by any means necessary and Robert wondered how far Aerys would go for it. Movement from the treeline pulled

Robert spotted a knight making his way towards Aerys. He was well-enough built but showed signs of advancing age, his hair slowing going grey and wrinkles encroaching upon his face. He seemed somewhat familiar to Robert. Maybe Robert had learned the name of this knight as part of Tywin's task but had now forgotten it.

Aerys looked and the knight's approach himself and smiled. "Ser Gordon!" Aerys exclaimed, sparking recognition in Robert. "Have you seen to the relay?"

The knight nodded as he approached, and kneeled when he reached to near where Aerys stood. "All preparations are complete, your grace. We are ready to set out at your command."

"Excellent. Let us be off," Aerys said and the men obeyed. Those who had their positions with Aerys at the head of the hunt got on their horses. Robert, as his squire for the day, followed him. So did Rhaegar, while Jon went with Velaryon.

Robert chanced a look at Rhaegar as they were mounting their horses and riding into the forest. Rhaegar's face could have been exchanged with a marbled bust and there would not have been any difference in the emotion it showed. Robert followed his glance and saw him looking towards where the King was riding a little ways ahead, conversing with Ser Gordon Grey, laughing and smiling, seemingly in good cheer.

Robert almost felt sorry for Rhaegar then, as he saw his own father smiling and riding as if with an old friend with the man who was his mistress's father. It was a grave insult to the Queen that Aerys still paraded his mistress in the court, offered her a position to stay in the Red Keep itself and offered her father the position of his retainer. Even Robert knew he wasn't so cruel as to do it to Cersei, however much she might have deserved it._ A king ought to be discreet in his affairs_, Robert thought.

A few of the men-at-arms had already fanned out ahead in the forest, searching for their quarry. The Master of the Hunt had provided them with possible locations the previous night, as was his duty. As Robert slowly rode on ahead with the part deeper into the wood, he could hear the dogs set in relay slavering and whining, anxious to start the chase.

They idled in the woods for a few hours while the foragers went forth with lymer dogs to search for the quarry. Robert was sure that the day was a bust and no hart would be found in this area when at last the call came.

"Hoy! Hoy!" the shout came from somewhere deeper inside the woods and Robert's heartbeat picked up. A hart had been sighted.

"Release the hounds!" Ser Gordon shouted.

Robert rolled his eyes. There really was no need for such mummery. All of these men-at-arms and servants accompanying them looked like veterans of many hunting trips. They knew what to do and when. The words of a single upjumped knight would not do much to change what they had to do anyway.

The greyhounds sprang forth from the underbrush and Aerys spurred his horse in chase. Robert followed. He was barely aware of Rhaegar riding just as hard beside him, or of Velaryon and Jon, just behind. His heart pounded in his ears and a grin spread over his face as the thrill of the hunt ran through his veins.

Robert finally caught sight of the hart just as it turned a bend and jumped over a brook. It was a magnificent beast, but Robert could not properly see how many tines it had on its antlers. The hounds were hot on its heels and Robert caught sight of Velaryon and Jon riding fast for where it would turn, trying to usher the hart towards were fresher hounds were waiting for it in relay.

The hart must have caught sight of Velaryon trying to flank it. Or maybe heard, for he wasn't any quiet in his approach, hooting and hollering at it. Predictably, the stag turned away and raced towards the other side, where Ser Gordon was waiting. Ser Gorder too raced along with the hart, preventing it from straying from its predetermined part.

The hounds were starting to tire, however, Robert noticed. He and Aerys were still just behind the hound, directly behind the hart as it tried in vain to turn to either side and got rebuffed by Valryon and Grey. Robert tried to push his horse faster, spurring it on. If the hounds tired before they made it to the where the next relay was waiting, the hart would make its escape.

Robert's worries were for nought however, as a fresher pack of hounds joined the chase. The tired hounds had been trained to stop once they saw their brethren emerge and stop they did. _Right in the middle of Robert and Aerys's path!_ Robert wanted to smack the person who put them such a bad relay position, but it was too late to worry about such things, riding neck and neck as he was with Aerys and Rhaeagar.

The greyhounds came closer and closer. Most of the hounds darted out the path in fear of being trampled, but a few stupider ones stayed put, waiting for the servants to take them away. Just as they reached the hounds, Robert forced his horse to jump over the dogs and watched from the corner of his eye as Rhaegar did likewise. Aerys had no such regard. He plowed his horse straight through those dogs, which let out a piteous whine as they were trampled.

Robert winced at the sound, but this was no time to get distracted. The hart was still going strong. At this rate, they would have to use the third and maybe even the fourth relay to fully tire out this stag. He looked to the sides to see if the others were performing their task. Men-at-arms were standing off to a side every so often, indicating to the huntsmen which path to take.

Grey was still riding to the right of them, somewhat ahead, in pace with the hounds, ensuring that the hart did not stray from going straight. But to their left, Velaryon was lagging behind and he was on par with Robert and Aerys. If the hart darted left, it would be impossible to chase it again. They were very close, Robert could feel it. Despite appearances, Robert knew from his experience that the hart would tire soon. A setback now would be disastrous.

Aerys seemed to have noticed it too. "Velaryon!" he roared. "Get yourself back in the chase, this instant!"

Velaryon seemed apologetic. "My horse grows tired, your grace," he said, though Robert felt it was he who grew tired and not his horse. Jon seemed furious from where he was riding, beside Velaryon.

Aerys's face turned apoplectic at that. He looked at Robert. "Take Velaryon's place, boy! Be quick about it!" Aerys ordered.

Rhaeagar was quick to protest. "He is inexperienced still, father. You cannot mean for him to shoulder that burden yet!"

Aerys's anger, exacerbated at the thought of the hart escaping, turned on Rhaegar. "You dare countermand me, child! Your King! Your lord father!" His outburst cowed Rhaegar sufficiently who bowed in contrition and Robert pushed his horse to take Velaryon's place while he lagged behind.

Robert's grin came back as he tore through the forest, hot on the chase. It had been so many years ago when he had been in this position, hunting with Old Jon in the Vale, Ned at his side. Playing second fiddle to Aerys and having Rhaegar for his companion rankled him. But it was a hunt nonetheless and the chase made his blood race through his veins.

Robert's path sent his past a few men-at-arms one of whom threw a spear of Robert to catch. "For the King, when the hart is at bay!" he shouted and Robert nodded, but the man couldn't have seen for Robert was long gone by then, right on the hart's tail.

The chase went on. Robert could see the moment the hart tired. Where it had ran, it now turned to defend itself. The last stand, one worthy of the noble beast. The hound closest to it was lifted off its feet by the hart's sudden change in position. The stag pushed away those hounds closest to it and tried to gore one dog with its horns. Blunt as they were, Robert wouldn't bet on the dog's survival had the blow hit it.

Aerys brought his horse to a stop, while a few servants, following close by rushed forwards to pull the hounds back. Satisfied that the hart was at bay, Aerys looked around for a spear or a lance to finish the job. Taking this to be his cue, Robert nudged his horse to go near Aerys and give him his spear.

Time was of the essence now. If the hart perceived itself to be at no danger, it would bolt again and the chase would have to be restarted. The hounds were baying, slavering, and barely being held back by the servants. Robert would need to have some words with the kennel master and Gilbert Manning. The hounds were too bloodthirsty.

Aerys took the spear from Robert's hand. "Look closely, boy. This how you finish," he said.

And without even dismounting from his horse, he charged at the stag. Robert was appalled at this lack of respect for this noble creature. That anyone would even hunt it on horseback once it had come to bay was unthinkable. Such a hart, which had led them on this tiring chase ought to be offered only the highest respect. The huntsman ought to dismount and face the stag's charge head-on. Robert's disgust for Aerys rose.

As Aerys reached the stag, it rose on its hind legs, ready to gore the horse. The horse, in turn, put into agitation by the sudden movement of the hart, reared on its own hind legs. Robert could see that Aerys nearly fell off his horse then, but he managed to retain his seat and thrust his spear into the hart's neck. The force of the blow put the spear through the entirety of the beast's neck and came through the other side.

The stag collapsed at once. It twitched on the ground as blood pooled around it, before gaining the still of death. Servants rushed forwards, a few congregating around Aerys, trying to calm his horse down, while others moved to the stag, carrying it back to the clearing where Aerys would clean and prepare the corpse.

Robert saw Rhaegar reach him on his horse. "That was an impressive kill," he said.

Robert grunted in reply. It was more foolhardy in truth, rather than impressive. Beside the fact of showing respect to the animal by approaching on foot, there were also other reasons the horse was frowned upon. One of which was what had happened just now.

Whatever might the beast's temperament, a stag rearing up to charge or gore makes a horse nervous and rear up, just as it had done with Aerys. He was lucky he hadn't fallen off it. Better hunters than Aerys had died trampled by their own horses by being overeager when the hart was at bay.

Rhaegar spoke up once more, taking Robert's silence for acquiescence. "It was a magnificent hart, too. I believe father will win this wager."

"I cannot truly say," Robert replied. "Has anyone counted how many tines it had?"

Jon reached them just then. "It was at least a hart of ten. I could count that many during the chase."

Robert rounded upon him. "What was Velaryon doing back there?" he demanded angrily. "We would have lost the stag and all our efforts would have gone in vain!" Robert could feel his hands balling into fists. He forced himself to calm down. _This is a small matter_, he told himself, _and not worth losing my temper over_.

Jon raised his hands in surrender. "He is unused to this sort of hunts, I imagine," Jon said. "I wanted to continue anyway, but I can't go against his orders." Jon shrugged apologetically.

Rhaegar took this opportunity to interject. "Father doesn't usually go for hunts par force. It's only ever hunts by the stable. I don't really know why he wanted to do it this way."

"It doesn't matter why once he's already done it, does it?" Robert grumbled. "Let's go see how many tines the stag has."

Robert led the trio to where the servants were loading the hart onto a wooden plank to carry back to their camp. Ser Gordon was just beside the corpse overseeing the servants on their job. He was carefully counting the tines on the hart's antlers and just finished his job as Robert approached.

"Your Grace!" he called out, excitement writ large on his face. " 'Tis a Royal Stag! Twelve Tines! I counted them myself!"

A triumphant smirk broke out upon Aerys's face then. "Excellent, Ser! You've proven yourself my most capable servant, yet," Aerys said. He was still standing near his horse, and he was feeding it an apple which he had gotten from somewhere. The whitecloaks, who had lagged behind in the hunt, were at Aerys's side once more, Ser Jonothor at his right and Ser Oswell at his left.

Ser Gordon preened under praise. Robert rolled his eyes and snorted at the display of the man puffing up, full of himself.

"If counting tines makes a man his capable servant, I'm sure the Master of the Hunt would the King's most capable yet," Robert muttered below his breath. Jon elbowed him in the ribs but grinned nonetheless.

"Don't speak like that," Rhaegar warned. "We may know that you jape, but if the kIng has a mind to take it as an insult, he'd mete out a horrible punishment." And for all of Robert's surprise, Rhaegar even looked concerned for Robert, if that was even possible.

So, Robert had to protest. "I don't see why you're being so concerned. It wasn't the king I was insulting anyway."

Rhaegar said nothing but looked away. Jon elbowed him in the ribs again.

"What?" Robert hissed.

"It is because Ser Gordon has the king's favour," Jon explained. "And the prince does not like him having that much favour."

"Well, it's not like we can do anything about it," Robert said.

"That doesn't mean you have to be so callous about it," Jon countered.

Robert scoffed. "I was hardly being callous. I barely said anything," Robert defended himself against Jon's sudden accusation. "And I never see Grey around the Red Keep anyway. What influence does he have?"

"Enough about this!" Rhaegar said suddenly. Robert could see the irritation writ on his face and smothered a smirk. He mounted his horse in a smooth fashion. "It is getting dark. Lord Tywin must be back at camp by now. We should be off."

Robert looked around and indeed, the place where they had gathered, where the hart had been killed was slowly being emptied. Aerys was already some distance ahead, riding along with Ser Gordon, Velaryon slinking behind them like a kicked dog. Ser Oswell was still waiting for Rhaegar, but Ser Jonothor had also left with Aerys.

"I suppose we should get going, then," Robert said.

Jon nodded in reply and they mounted their respective horses. They set off just behind Rhaegar, Ser Oswell following close by, ever silent as all kingsguard were wont to do. While they rode through the slowly darkening forest, Robert saw a raven sitting a branch some ways ahead of him. When he slipped into it, it was as easy as wearing a well-broken shoe.

The raven as his companion, Robert spent the rest of his ride in silence once more, trusting his horse. Finally, after almost an hour of riding in silence in the dark, Robert could the torchlit clearing up ahead. He let go of the bird and sped up, Jon and Rhaegar at his side doing the same.

Robert rode to the edge of the camp and dismounted, handing over the reins of his horse to a groom who rushed forward to take it. The camp was brightly lit by torches which were set around its perimeter and a feast seemed to have already started. Rhaegar stood to a side, feeding his own horse a carrot, but the look on his face was very uneasy.

Walking forward with Jon, Robert reached the centre of the camp where a massive pavilion was erected. Aerys was seated at the centre, Tywin to his left and his right empty, most likely for Rhaegar. As he got closer, Robert could see the ugly emotions twisting on Aerys's face, the way he held the goblet in his hands tightly and the way one could see his teeth grit in anger.

The reason for it made itself clear pretty soon enough.

"Lord Tywin's hart has thirteen tines," Jon whispered into Robert's ear.

"I can count, Jon," Robert retorted. "You needn't point it out to me."

Join paid him no mind. He moved forward to serve Lord Velaryon who was seated to the left of Tywin and Robert too went to serve his own master.

Robert noted that Tywin was silent as he ate and drank. The whole camp had an undercurrent of tension running through it. Robert wanted nothing to do with it and focused on refilling Tywin goblet with Arbor Gold whenever he asked for it.

Just below the high table, a smaller one was laid out, perpendicular to this one. The household knight, minor retainers and other petty men-at-arms were seated here. Most of them paid no mind to the tension surrounding the high table. It was not every day that you got to feast on venison after all. What did they care if one lord had out shot the other?

But closer to the high table, where the knights sat, Robert could see their stiff postures and the way the made sure not to look at the King or the Hand. Out of deference, they made sure to eat only positions which were from Aerys's royal stag. But, the camp was quite silent. It had none of the cheer which was characteristic of a successful hunt. Just a few men, talking quietly and eating silently, drinking but not speaking out.

Robert felt the tension himself. He could see the King was taught as a bowstring, looking for slights, perceived or otherwise. Robert thought it was lucky that the household felt this tension as well for they did not comment on the fact that there was a competition at the hunt at all.

Just when Robert thought that this was over and that they had escaped whatever wrath Aerys had cooked up for whoever had the misfortune of even breathing wrongly, Robert heard Ser Gordon Grey's loud, drunken voice.

"A magnifishient shtag, Lor' Tywin had." Ser Grey hiccupped. The knight he was talking to seemed slashed out of his mind as well, but he spoke nothing, choosing instead to slump over on the wooden table. "Thirteen tines ish no mean feat."

It was clear Ser Gordon was too far gone in his cups to even think of the insult he had just given the King. Robert could see that Tywin stilled in his position beside Aerys, wanting to see how he'd react.

And react he did. There was no doubt that the King had not heard Ser Gordon's drunken ramblings. His nostrils flared in anger and Robert could see Aerys getting puffed up, his face ugly with his anger. Rhaegar, who was standing quite some distance away looked over in worry.

"Ser Oswell!" Aerys called sharply. The knight who was standing behind Aerys, beside Robert, stepped forward and got on a knee.

Aerys thought for a moment, looking at Ser Gordon, who now sprawled on the table, a tankard of ale held in his hand. The knights around him gave him a wide berth, recognizing his fate.

"We have been struck with an epidemic of vermin recently," Aerys started. "Spies in our own keep! No doubt, someone from our own castle has been letting them in."

Robert could immediately see where this was going. He did not know if he liked it. Tywin, on the hand, had a glimmer of satisfaction in his eyes for some reason.

"It was so serious that even our Lord Hand has been having trouble with it recently." Aerys laughed, a high, sharp and nasty thing. "Fortunately for him, I have used my own considerable expertise to root out this problem."

The camp was eerily silent now, the chirping of crickets and the crackling fire adding to the anxiousness of the men. Oblivious to the situation, Ser Gordon twitched, bringing his tankard closer to him.

The knight closest to him reached out to nudge him. Aerys's shout rang out.

"Stop!" Aerys suddenly screamed and the man froze his hand an inch from Ser Gordon's shoulder, from where he was sprawled on the rough-hewn wood of the log table. "Let the traitorous sot wallow in his drunkenness in his last few moments."

Aerys's face was twisted in vindictive glee. He turned towards Ser Oswell. "Off with his head. The traitor needn't even wake up. Look how merciful I am, giving him a merciful death, painless in his sleep." he said with a mocking smile.

Ser Oswell said nothing, but he got up and walked over the knights' table. The rest, even the most drunken sponges scooted away and got as far as they could from the table without seeming cowardly. Ser Oswell took out his broad sword from its sheath and placed it over Ser Gordon's neck. Aerys and Tywin leaned forward. Jon and Rhaegar were looking away. Robert was looking at Aerys.

Ser Gordon must have realised something was wrong. The camp was too quiet. He cracked an eye open.

"Wha-"

_Thwack!_

The sword cut clean through Ser Gordon's neck. Blood spurted out in copious amounts. His body twitched and some blood splattered on Aerys, Twyin and Robert's face.

Aerys turned to face Robert.

"Am I not merciful, Robert?" he asked, madness glinting in his eyes, fire dancing in them.

Robert swallowed as ice slid down his spine. He felt Tywin's eyes on him.

"You are most merciful, your grace."

**AN:**

Sorry for the delay. I have no excuse, but real life. So, we have yet another chapter finished. The good news, I actually have a pretty solid plot outline for like 10 more chapters all the way up to an alt Duskendale.

As always, tell me how it was. Did you like it? Hate it? Want to complain? Do let me know. I thrive off of feedback, so do tell me what you think. Thanks for reading!


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